


Faithfully

by wigglebox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Road Trips, Somnophilia, There's only One Bed!, recovery roadtrip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 12:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: I'm forever yours --





	Faithfully

The waiting room Castiel sat in smelled bad.

Not in a trash heap sort of way, but tires hung everywhere on the walls around him, and the fumes from running cars wafter in under the door. That probably wasn’t healthy.

He flipped a page in the magazine he wasn’t reading. He held it so he had something to do, something to look at if the mechanics in the garage looked up and saw him staring. He didn’t want to takes his eyes off the car. The car currently jacked up was family and the car wasn’t used to being handled by other people.

But the Impala’s one true mechanic was too incapacitated to even think about tuning it up. Nothing was inherently wrong with it, but Cas and everyone felt better about a check-up before the trip to San Diego. The trip to the west coast would be nearly fifteen hundred miles, and then the journey up the west coast would take them another fourteen hundred.

It was a daunting trip for Cas but it needed to happen. Dean didn’t say much anymore, but he wanted it to happen, and only wanted Cas to come with him.

So, the car needed a small tune up before the trip. Cas wondered if it would make it all the way, but it’s gotten all of them safely to and fro. Cas still had some faith.

The guy at the counter caught Cas staring, and Cas quickly tilted his head back down to the auto trader magazine. He mid-morning talk show said something witty, and the audience laughed. Cas imagined the laughter was really just the universe laughing at the idea of Cas and Dean going on an almost five thousand mile road trip in the fifty year hunk of metal in the shop that hadn’t been worked on in two years.

But they were going, because Dean needed it, and Cas needed it too. It was road therapy, combined with shit food and awe-inspiring sights. Dean wanted a beach trip, and Dean was getting a beach trip up and down the Pacific coast.

Cas’s phone rang, and Dean’s caller ID popped up.

“Hey, Is everything all right?” Cas hated asking this, since he asked it every time Dean called but it was an automatic response. Dean only just started talking again.

“Yeah. Shocks,” Dean paused, “Tell them about, shocks.”

“I’m sure they know to check the shocks.” Cas didn’t know what shocks meant.

“Don’t trust them.”

 _I_ don’t trust them is what he meant to say.

“Yeah, I know. But you can’t work on the car, and we’re leaving in a couple days.”

Dean only grunted. A sound of displeasure.

“Were you just sleeping?”

Another grunt.

“Go back to bed or go eat something. Please.”

“Fine.” And Dean hung up. Eating had been hard to get him to do again. He forgot how to cook, and had no taste for food for almost a year.

The _incident_ as they call it, was more damaging than a normal angel possessing a human.

Michael stayed in Dean for almost six months with everyone all trying to track him down. The conversation if they should kill Dean to kill Michael only happened once. Sam sat in stony silence from his chair, glaring at anyone who dared to entertain the idea. Cas thought about it, thought about who should or would do it if they had to. He quickly came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t be able to. Sam wouldn’t be able to. Mary wouldn’t be able to. Jack and Bobby might, but Jack hated hurting people, and Bobby … well Bobby was probably their only bet.

But they stayed the execution. The goal that flashed in their minds was to get Dean back, _safe_.

That proved difficult.

How do you get an archangel out of a human, and have the human live? Humans barely lived when low level angels left them.

“Cas?”

Tearing his eyes away from the text in the magazine, Cas turned to the guy at the counter. He held a clipboard and tapped a pen at the top.

The car had nothing substantially wrong with it other than needing an oil change and some fresh tires. The engine checked out, along with all the knobs and buttons and whatever the hell else they were talking about. Dean would understand. He wouldn’t say much, just nod, and then try to sneak out to the bunker’s garage just to double check. Cas would probably let him, but not for long. Dean was prone to falling asleep, and Cas didn’t need him doing that underneath a car.

But, it could live through a road trip. At least the first leg of the road trip. Cas made a mental note to get it checked out again before they were in the middle of nowhere California.

Cas paid the guy for the tires and the oil change before heading out to get in the car. He had been driving it a lot lately, more than Sam, and Dean didn’t even drive anymore. It felt weird, being in the driver’s seat of something so close and personal to others. He’s spent a lot of time in the car as well, but he knew it was a home for so many years to Dean and Sam.

It just felt weird, like it was a privilege he lucked into instead of earning. Everything felt foreign. Sometimes he missed the Lincoln he had, the strange thing it was.

Cas had to push aside the uncertainty, especially if he expected to make it during this excursion of theirs. He didn’t want to call it a vacation. It didn’t feel like a vacation. He never went on one but he assumed he knew what it would feel like. Now, he felt like a gatekeeper, or a chaperone.

Sam came to the conclusion (and after his evidence, mostly everyone agreed) that the stress from Michael caused Dean to have a stroke. Michael healed him, but only just. Cas knew what a stroke was, and it only made him hate Michael more. Their Michael, end of the world Michael: Same difference.

Dean only just started talking to them again, but even then he got hung up on certain words. He spoke slow, tiring himself out. He didn’t remember them for the first three months after resurfacing, and it took him six months to get mobile again. Sam did mention that Dean would not talk sometimes as a child when something bad happened, but they were certain that it was just from Michael.

Cas agreed it was probably a stroke, and something much deeper in Dean’s soul. He knew what he did to Jimmy. Jimmy, turned out, was okay. Until he was critically injured as a human, but he was okay. Jimmy remembered his family, remembered how to eat, how to talk, even how to get home. Dean remembered none of it. Cas was a strong angel, but not as strong as Michael, and not as strong as the Michael who got the apocalypse he always wanted. But, even if Cas wasn’t as strong, he knew he created a divot in Jimmy’s soul. Something that made the man understand things he shouldn’t, see things he shouldn’t, and whatever Cas took away he filled with his own grace. Not that it gave Jimmy any extra source of power, just like with Dean, but it still took something away.

They tried asking Dean what he remembered from Michael, but he only shook his head. This was when he couldn’t talk. They didn’t know if the shake meant _no I don’t remember_ or _I can’t talk about it_. But, after he started speaking nearly four months ago, they asked again. He still said no. They stopped pushing.

Sam mentioned after Dean’s time in hell, he refused to talk about it. Cas could imagine, as he didn’t see a pretty picture down there. But he didn’t share the same vision as Dean anymore. Not a clear one, anyways.

Cas drove. He drove, and he drove, getting use to the feel of Baby before they left.

It still felt weird.

**TWO**

Dean, of course, didn’t trust the mechanics, just like Cas knew would happen.

He still walked slow, as he got out of breath if he walked too fast. But no matter his struggles, he wouldn’t let anyone help him. If he couldn’t get to his destination, he’d take a short break and keep going. Dean may not be one hundred percent, but that part of him stayed intact.

He inspected the car, doing a tour around her, checking for scratches or dents that weren’t already there. This took him nearly thirty minutes. Cas sat on a stool in the garage, watching.

“You know, if you do this every time we stop this trip will probably take six months.”

“Shut up.”

Cas rolled his eyes, turning back to his list on the workbench, working through what was still left to pack. They couldn’t spend too much money out on the road other than food and necessities. Dean couldn’t really play pool anymore, and Cas just sucked at it.

Dean walked over to him, and sat on another stool, still watching the car.

“She… drove fine?”

“I’m no expert, but yes. I didn’t hear anything, feel anything, or see anything strange on the way home. I think they did a good job.”

Dean snorted. Cas wondered if this was what the whole trip was going to be like.

“I’m serious,” Cas warned, turning back to his list “Sometimes you have to trust other people.”

Silence from Dean, then: “I know”

Without another word, Dean lifted himself off the stool and shuffled out of the garage.

**THREE**

Everyone else all went on a hunt to give the boys some time to pack without distraction. They would be back two days before he and Dean left. Cas thanked them in private. He needed the time to go over parts of the trip with Dean, and Dean also needed some quiet and not five people constantly analyzing him and asking him if he was okay.

Dean sat in his room, resting on his bed while Cas moved around. He pulled things out of the closet and drawers that checked the lines off on his list. Shirts, pants, underwear, toothbrush -- anything and everything.

“What books do you want to bring?”

Dean shrugged, and pointed to the shelf. Cas went over and grabbed a few off and put them on the bed stand next to Dean for him to choose. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Dean sorted through the paperbacks. He still had issues reading for long periods of time, but Cas wanted Dean to keep his brain active on the trip.

“I don’t want…” Dean trailed off. He tried saying something else, but huffed in anger instead and slammed a book down. To be fair, he probably read them all many times.

“You have to bring something. You’re going to get bored.”

“You just don’t… want me to talk…” Dean grunted in anger, collapsing back onto his pillow, avoiding eye contact.

Cas grew silent, shoving things into the bag with more force than needed. He knew it was just another outburst of anger. Sam said it would happen as Dean became more aware of his limitations. The first year there were hardly any, but they’d increased.

“You know that’s not true.”

And it wasn’t. It was a gift when Dean started to speak again. He asked for water, eyes closed as he laid in bed. Jack had been watching him. The others didn’t believe him at first since it took Dean almost a day to say something else (“Bathroom”). That night, Sam and Cas almost cried with relief that Dean wasn’t completely gone.

Dean’s voice was a gift, and one that Cas wouldn’t take for granted again. So no --

“I want you to talk the whole ride if you could,” He turned around, leaning against the dresser, arms folded over his chest, “But you can’t. Not yet. And I don’t want you go get restless or bored. I want you to enjoy this trip.”

Dean rolled over on his back and propped himself up on his elbows, giving Cas an apologetic sort of look. The good thing about the anger tantrums were they didn’t last too long.

“It’s okay. We’ll get through this. Just have some faith in me and pick out a book.”

Dean nodded without another complaint or angry expression and went back to the pile.

Cas held himself against the dresser, watching him for a moment.

“Why am I going?”

Dean stopped, and looked at him.

“What?”

“Why am I the only one going?” Cas clarified. Dean wanting a road trip and a vacation made sense, but being away from his whole family for months didn’t. It didn’t sound like the Dean he knew for nine years.

Dean sighed, and moved to sit up, crossing his legs like a child who was being scolded. Cas hated that.

“Months with them… m-might be too… m-m-much for me.” Dean forced out, picking at a spot on his bedspread, “I want quiet.”

Cas hesitated, then: “But why _me?_ ”

Now Dean picked his head up, staring straight at Cas, determined.

“You brought… me back. I remember that much. You brought me… back.”

Cas didn’t want to think about that.

“It wasn’t just me.”

“Yes it was… I heard your voice. I can’t r-remember what… you said, but I heard you,” Dean nodded his head and went back to his books, picking two out, “These. I’ll find m-more… on the road.”

Cas realized he still hadn’t gotten and answer, but dropped it. Dean looked tired. He took the books, watching Dean go back to laying down. The books went in the front seat bag, tucked into the front pockets. When he turned back around, Dean was asleep.

**FOUR**

They all had a hand in bringing Dean back to expel Michael, but Dean was right. Cas was the last one to talk to him, trying to get him back. He had been desperate, and at that point, battling on the Heaven front with Naomi who wanted him back to help rebuild the place. Once again, he found himself choosing between Dean (who currently wasn’t there) or Heaven, his home.

Getting Michael captured was a feat all on its own, helped by Jack and Bobby, wrangling him with modified bullets melted down from Lucifer’s archangel blade.

But wounding Michael didn’t force Dean back out, so they dragged him back to the Bunker, and secured him in the modified ‘dungeon’ with sigils strong enough to hold an archangel at least for a little while. With Michael powered down a bit from the wound to his leg (Dean’s leg), they were able to try to pry into Dean’s head and bring him back out.

They tried everything from pictures, music, recounting memories -- everything they could. Cas remained on the outside, thinking Sam and Mary, even alternate-Bobby could help. But after day two, no progress was made.

Everyone turned in for the night, but Cas went to see Michael.

Michael (Dean) hung his head with either pain or exhaustion. They had to be careful to not hurt him too much, because if they succeeded Dean would need to recover. Cas tried to not look at the glowing wound at the top of his thigh, or the glowing wound on his left shoulder. There were some bruises and cuts from a scuffle, but they were things that Dean could deal with.

When Cas closed the door, Michael looked up and grinned a sickly, horrific smile, baring his teeth. It promised something that Cas didn’t want to see the tail end of. The smile, the look, reminded Cas of when Dean turned demon. But, that was still him. Now Michael possessed him like a parasite, feeding off everything his body had, including his soul.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Michael goaded. The voice didn’t even sound like Dean’s, “I kept seeing you lurk back there in the shadows. Nice of you to show your face.”

Cas didn’t reply. He wouldn’t talk to Michael directly. He wouldn’t acknowledge him in any way.

“Dean, listen to me.”

Michael groaned and rolled his eyes, “You guys are sounding like a broken record. He can’t hear you!”

“He can hear me.” Cas said, mostly to himself. He’s tried this only once, centuries ago trying to get an angel out of a human they needed to stay alive. Circumstances were different, the angel was a sub-par one who was no way powerful in comparison to Michael, but what did he have to lose? He had just enough grace left to try.

First, he silenced Michael. He froze the vocal cords, careful to avoid choking the air out of Dean. The fear being that Michael could retreat and bring Dean back at the wrong moment.

Cas walked forward, stretching his palm out like he planned to smite Michael. Instead, closing his eyes, he concentrated energy into his right hand. He couldn’t possess Dean, but he could speak to him if he hijacked Michael’s ‘radio’ voice.

He felt rather than heard a dull hum. His hand shook, but he stayed steady. Cas had no reason to believe he had enough grace left to do this, but he would hate himself if he didn’t try. He just didn’t want to try in front of an audience who would pour all their hope into him only to be disappointed.

A _pop_ followed by what sounded like a loud rush of air followed shortly after. Cas’s hand grew hot. He wanted to rip it away but he couldn’t, even if his hand burned off. Instead, he doubled down, and used his other hand on the back of Dean’s skull to steady the man.

Michael tried yelling but couldn’t. Eyes screwed up in pain, his mouth opened, trying to scream. Cas had silenced him, but it wouldn’t last long. If Michael was still screaming when the connection broke, the others would come rushing in, and everything would fall apart.

Cas focused on diving into the mangled mess inside the soul. His hands stopped heating up, instead settling on a healthy warmth. He searched for Dean, but couldn’t hear him. The cold grip of terror threatened to overtake him then, thinking Dean was actually gone to them, that Michael killed him. Cas shoved that unsettled feeling back down. Now wasn’t the time.

He kept searching.

Cas felt a small pulse of _something_ and that kept him going. Even a small bit, whatever remained, he could work with.

He finally saw Dean in the blackness of his closed eyes. He looked relaxed, head tucked again his chin as he snoozed.

The scene, in contrast with the unreflecting blackness surrounded them, was bizarre. Cas heard what sounded like waves, but saw no water. A few seagulls flew over him, appearing and disappearing in a weird loop.

Dean himself sat on a beach chair, that had its legs anchored in the sand. A beer was on his left, a paperback book resting on the chair’s arm to his right. Dean himself wore a bright blue t-shirt and board shorts. The lighting lead Cas to believe it was sunny where Michael put Dean. Odd shadows disappeared from the sand into the black void surrounding him. Cas couldn’t get the full picture. For that, he’d need to possess Dean.

But he guessed enough. This was why none of them earlier could get through. Michael put him to sleep.

“Dean, we need you to wake up.”

Nothing.

“Wake up please. We need you to wake up.”

Still nothing, but the waves seemed to get more quiet, like they were retreating farther and farther away. He changed tactics.

“Dean, I want you to wake up.”

His eyes fluttered. Cas wanted to move closer, but he was still on the outside looking in.

“I want you to wake up. I want you to come back.” Cas dropped his voice so it still issued the command, but was soft, like he was speaking to an injured animal. In some ways, he was.

Dean’s eyes opened fully and lifted his head, but he said nothing, just staring out into the void in front of him. The desire to go to Dean and sit in the sand next to him was great. It frustrated him, this shield around Dean. But he kept talking.

“We miss you. I miss you. You can cast him out.” Truer words remained hidden on his tongue while the prepared speech he worked on the past few days flew out.

Cas felt, rather than heard, the small _hum_ again. His grace couldn’t sustain this for long, and this was the only chance he’d get.

“I want you to cast Michael out, Dean. I want you back here. I want you back here with all of us but mostly I want you back because I _need_ you. I don’t need you in the way everyone else does.” The words tripped up again, but he forced himself to keep talking, “I want you back because I love you. And not in the way you love Sam or your mother. I love you, and I want you back.”

The words seem to hang in the air between them. Cas couldn’t believe he’d actually said it, but if it helped pull Dean back from this lightless void, then what did it matter. If the secret was spilled, then it was spilled for something worthwhile.

Dean didn’t look at him first, but blinked rapidly, like he was holding back tears. A sign of life. Slow, but steady, like if he turned too quickly his head would pop off, Dean locked eyes with Cas through the invisible shield.

And he screamed.

Like a punch to the gut, Cas was ripped from the space in a flash of light. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, only felt that he was traveling through something.

Back in the land of the living, his hands ripped away from Dean’s head and he stumbled back. For one horrified moment, he thought Michael got back to him and forced him out. But now the screaming was very much real and happening in the dungeon space. And it wasn’t Michael.

Cas ran for Rowena and the others.

They needed to cut the restraints for Michael to be forced out. They did so carefully, all the while Dean struggled in the chair in front of them. He strained, and screamed non-stop, a truly horrible sound.

At the time, No one questioned what Cas was doing in the room at such a late hour. They only took instructions from him and Rowena as they set in motion their plan to get rid of Michael.

Once the other restraints were cut, the only thing remaining was the collar and chain that strained against Dean’s neck. They forced him back against the chair, and Cas stabilized his head so they could make quick work on the metal collar. One look at Rowena confirmed she was ready with the box that would hold Michael, at least for the amount of time they needed.

Sam worked quick with the collar, and he glanced at everyone, confirming their positions before undoing the lock in one swift motion.

Time slowed for Cas as he watched the eerie glow of Michael pour out of Dean’s screaming mouth and hit the sigil-laden ceiling. Before he could escape, Cas used what little power he had left to force Michael in one direction. It was hard, like grabbing onto a kicking bull three times his size, but he managed to hang on. He guided Michael’s remnants towards Rowena and her special box. He still didn’t understand how it worked, but she assured them it would hold him.

And sure enough, Michael poured into the box like liquid silver. Tiny Rowena managed to hold her ground, bracing her feet against the wall as Michael struggled to go in. She yelled and they all rushed over to help her close the lid.

The lid slammed shut, and a lock turned on its own as Rowena shoved it under her arm. The box still moved, but she managed.

“We need to get that rift back open now.”

They had planned it in advance, and got Michael’s already siphoned grace ready. Cas screamed at himself as they rushed to the entryway of the bunker, throwing ingredients together. Bobby stayed far off to the side. Cas didn’t blame him.

Cas watched the box shudder and move, trying to escape. He rested a hand on it to keep it pinned to the war table. It burned as hot as Dean’s head had, but he kept it still. He felt exhaustion taking him, and he struggled to stay on his feet. He knew the grace he had left was almost gone. It would take a while to recharge. This had to work on the first go.

Several long minutes, later Rowena finally opened the fissure into the other universe. Cas had volunteered to do this. He now had second thoughts, but a look around the room confirmed he had to be the one.

Taking the box, he stepped forward through the rift without looking at anyone else. They had to be fast;they didn’t want anything getting out.

Once in the bleak world yonder, he looked to the sky.

“Hungry? I have food!” He called. Lucifer’s comment of eating angels had sparked an idea several months prior, when figuring out what to do with Michael’s grace when they got it. They hoped with the leader gone, the angels would descend into madness, as the angels in their world did when they lost their leaders.

And they were right.

Angels descended in front of Cas, looking much different than they had six months ago. Their skin was peeled and blistered, like they couldn’t heal themselves. Some were missing eyes, or teeth, or limbs all together. They were becoming powerless, and the toxic, fume-ridden air was getting to them and their worn out vessels.

Cas unlocked the box, and threw it on the ground in front of them.

“Eat.”

He didn’t watch. He didn’t need to. The screeches and moans of hunger did enough for him as he imagined the warped angels ripping open the box and devouring Michael.

They’d be powerful. Not as much as Michael but powerful enough before the grace ate them alive again. But Cas and everyone back in the bunker had nothing to fear.

Cas pushed through the rift, a small wash of relief pouring over him over never having to go through again. He shouted at Rowena to close it before any of the rabid angels got through. She did, they didn’t, and the silence after it closed rang in their ears.

They’d done it.

**FIVE**

Packed and ready to go, Dean and Cas said their goodbyes.

Cas was fearful Mary would cry, but it was actually Sam who had to hide his tears.

They had take-out pizza from Bert’s and gathered around the table for the night of eating, drinking, and small talk. It felt homey, but also sad for reasons Cas couldn’t quite pin. He knew they’d be back, but it still felt like some uncharted journey that they’d easily get lost on.

But Dean smiled all throughout dinner. He couldn’t crack any jokes, and didn’t bother with a fourth slice but he still seemed to enjoy everyone’s company. Jack ate the fourth, fifth, and sixth pieces in honor of Dean. That caused him to laugh a bit.

But Cas just watched, smiling when he needed too, but thinking when eyes were off him. Two years ago, if you told him this would be a scene he’d witness with his own eyes, he would have told you that hope was great, but expect the worst.

He wasn’t scared of the road trip with Dean, but he was scared the truth would get out. The truth of what helped bring Dean back from the void. Cas knew how to keep his thoughts and words to himself when need be, but he was afraid if he saw Dean on the beach, in the same manner he saw Dean in the void, then his mouth wouldn’t shut up.

He’d kept these feelings to himself for so long. To spill them two years ago was a desperate attempt to get Dean back, but now Cas wanted them locked away again. It was too complicated.

Sam caught his eye, and his face fell. Sam and his weird ability to sense things that Cas and others try to hide. Sometimes it was great. Right now, it was annoying.

Sam managed to corner Cas after dinner and everyone went to bed. Cas wandered down the hall to his own room after checking that Dean was set and ready to go tomorrow morning.

Cas was checking his own bag when Sam knocked on his door.

“Quick chat before you head to bed?”

Cas didn’t look at him, but nodded as he zipped up the bag.

Sam edged into the room, glancing back behind him to make sure the inhabitants of the bedrooms stayed there. He shut the door behind him with a _snip_. Cas moved over to the suitcase on the floor.

“You gonna be okay with this trip? You looked… pale… earlier.”

From his place on the floor, Cas looked up at Sam. He didn’t know what to tell him, but when Sam wanted to talk, you talk.

“Yeah I’m fine. A little nervous, but fine.”

“Do you think he’ll be fine?”

“If he’s not, we’ll come straight back. I’ll force him on a plane if I have to.”

Sam laughed, and sat on the bed, watching Cas check over his packing list for the eight hundredth time.

It occured to Cas that he’d never seen Sam relaxed. Even now, sitting on the bed and watching Cas pack, he was on guard. He always seemed like a man who thought of his words at least thirty minutes in advance, practiced arguments and conversations in his head. Even in the most relaxed situations they’ve found themselves in over the past eleven years, Sam was still so guarded, analyzing every move by every person.

Sam could be exhausting.

“How are you feeling about this? Seriously.”

Cas sighed. Despite Sam’s high-tension persona, Cas respected him, even liked him. The past two years had been hard on them both, but worse on Sam. He had no doubt in his mind that Sam was a little hurt when Dean made his announcement for this road trip and only Cas was invited to come along.

“I don’t know why only I’m going. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I don’t know what Dean expects to get out of this other than a sore ass and sunburn.”

Sam nodded, “When I asked him, he said it was just something he had to do. Did you ask him?”

“Yeah. He--,” Cas paused, unsure if he could divulge this information. He decided it couldn’t hurt, “He told me it was because I pulled him out. But he didn’t elaborate past that.”

Sam nodded again, a small smile on his face still, like Cas just confirmed some hidden truth to him. He hoped he hadn’t. He’d had enough of truth-spilling the past couple years. The only saving grace was Dean told Cas he couldn’t remember what was said. Sam would remember.

Sam stood, stretching with a yawn, and patted Cas on the shoulder as he walked towards the door.

“Try to enjoy it. If you do, he will too. He could use a smile or two.”

With those words, Sam left.

The next day, they said their goodbyes at the bottom of the stairs. The car waited for them outside, and Dean seemed excited to go. He kissed his mother and hugged Jack, who gave him a pair of fuzzy dice for good luck.He clap-hugged Bobby in a familiar-but not-so-familiar way, and he truly hugged Sam. Cas watched as Sam brought him over to the side for a quiet conversation as everyone else chatted about the upcoming trip.

After promising to call with every stop, they made for the door. Cas had to help Dean up the stairs, but for once, Dean didn’t mind. He clung to Cas with the eager enthusiasm of a kid going to a baseball game or candy store.

Cas couldn’t really feel emotions and shadows of thoughts off people anymore, but he could tell on the outside that Dean was smelling freedom.

And they made their escape.

**LEBANON TO SAN DIEGO: 1,460 miles**

**ONE**

The morning was warm as mornings were in Kansas in early June. Dean immediately rolled down the window on his side to feel the fresh air. Cas did the same.

They didn’t speak as they rolled through the tiny town. It was still too early for anything to be open. They hadn’t had breakfast and would have to wait until they got to Smith Center to think about food.

They eased on down 191 and onto 281, the town passing to their left. People were still asleep, the sun slowly rising in the distance past them. Houses lined the street as they rumbled through. They past a sign that said ‘BUSINESS DIST’ which made Cas laugh a bit. Other than a small market and an auto shop, there wasn’t much business in the district.

As they moved out of Lebanon and merged onto Route 36, hunger already overtaking Cas. They’d get to Smith Center in twenty minutes and wondered if it was too soon to call Sam. He did say every time they stopped he would let them know. But, he didn’t want to move into that babysitter role he’d been careful to toe the line of.

Lebanon was behind them, and Dean tracked its place until they couldn’t see it anymore. When they drove far enough, Dean turned right back around in the seat and exhaled. Cas realized he hadn’t been breathing properly this whole time, like they were somehow not going to make it out of Lebanon. Cas realized he’d been doing that same thing.

Dean looked over to him, flashed a smile, and turned the radio on. He kept it low so he could talk over it if he needed to.

They drove without speaking, but it wasn’t awkward. Yet.

The fields around them rolled past as Rush sang to them from the speakers. Dean didn’t look back to the small town. Cas felt like they just participated in a relaxed prison break. They were out of Lebanon’s shadow. It was just the two of them.

Cas suddenly, and strongly, didn’t want to go back.

He glanced to his right, and saw Dean starting to drift off in his seat. He looked more at peace now than he did… probably the whole time they’ve known each other. The only other time was --

Don’t think about it.

Cas sat straighter up on the seat, still adjusting to the feel of the car. He hoped to adjust fast, otherwise it would be a very long trip. It still felt so foreign to him, not being in the back or even the passenger seat. This car had been rebuilt and tailored in every way to fit the man next to him, who was happily dozing off as the rolling pastures whizzed by him.

Cas had to keep convincing himself that they weren’t going to turn around right now and head back. That this wasn’t just some excursion to get food and go right back to that concrete fortress.

Dean dozed, and Cas kept driving through their first mileage in fly-over country.

They found their first meal on the road at a place called Paul’s. They’ve been here before, but only to pick up food, and only twice in the past several years. The food was subpar but they didn’t want to venture too far into Smith Center. They had a trip to play out.

Cas loathed to wake Dean up but he wasn’t in a deep sleep, and was half-awake already when Cas pulled into the parking lot.

“What’d I miss?” He asked, wiping whatever drool leaked out of his mouth.

“The first twenty minutes of fields and tractors.”

Dean shrugged, and went for the door handle. It occured to Cas that Dean had probably seen all of these sights before. Not so much on his way to San Diego, but none of this was new. It was new to Cas, but he felt like it wasn’t his trip to enjoy it.

As they walked up to the diner, he realized, with a weird image popping into his mind of ferrymans and guiding angels often depicted in old bibles. To his credit, he wasn’t ferrying a dead man to the Land of the Dead, and he wasn’t an angel anymore. But the feeling wouldn’t shake.

Paul’s was a basic diner place, mostly for the blue-collared, red-necked men who stomped around the town and peeked up skirts of women who passed. But, John Denver crooned to them over a speaker in the ceiling, and the smell of scrambled eggs and sausages made Cas’s stomach rumble. Of all the things he was happy about with being human, being able to taste food was high up on the list.

Among other things.

They sat at a table, and glanced at the menu, though Cas knew what he was getting as soon as he walked in the door. Dean was a different story. He looked like he belonged with the morning crowd but his appetite didn’t match. He’s lost some weight in the past two years.

“Get what you want. I’ll eat whatever you can’t,” Cas mumbled, still pretending to look over the menu.

“Thanks. I’d feel bad ordering off the kid’s menu. But…” Dean looked at the menu with hungry eyes, “I think I can put away a short stack of blueberry pancakes.”

They ate in the same silence that filled the car, and it was then that Cas realized what was making him feel so different on this trip.

They had goals. There were milestones they wanted to hit on this trip like San Diego and the northernmost tip of Washington State. Other than that, nothing. They didn’t plan anything. There wasn’t a hunt waiting for them at the end of the road or a seedy motel where they had to plan and research whatever monster-of-the-week fell in their lap.

They really _were_ free.

That cheered Cas up a bit from a sullen mood he hadn’t realized he was in.Smiling, he took a pancake off of Dean’s plate.

 

 

**TWO**

They made it to the outskirts of Denver without any trouble, but then they needed to stop for the rest of the day.

Kansas had been boring. They chatted a bit, Dean slept a bit, and Cas kept himself entertained by counting how many tractors he could see from Route 36.

It was a calm drive. His initial nerves wore off as they talked. It helped to not be trapped in his own head. They couldn’t talk much with Dean’s limitations, but it was still so nice to hear his voice. Cas allowed himself that much.

They talked about Jack’s progress, about Mary and Bobby and how _that_ was a thing holy shit, and about what lives must be like out here on the lonesome backroads in fly-over country. That was dangerous territory, because when Dean fell back asleep, Cas thought about what life would be like for them out here. Alone. A farmhouse that needed painting and some fixing up--but that could be a project. Maybe getting some farm animals? Maybe. They could plant things and have breakfasts at Paul’s every Saturday. Then, when the days were hot and sticky and they couldn’t sleep because the night was the same, they would --

Cas adjusted himself and refused to look at Dean, slumped over in his seat. That was too far.

When they passed Last Chance, Colorado, Cas laughed at the irony. They stopped there for a bathroom break by the side of the road and he had a chance to catch the road sign next to the Methodist church:

GOD ALWAYS FORGIVES

BIBLE STUDY THURSDAY 6 P.M.

He snorted. Dean laughed. They moved on.

Dean started to grumble about cramps and restlessness when they were about fifteen miles out from Denver. They stopped again, and this time they found a motel to hole up in. Cas was okay with it. He was getting tired. He wasn’t used to the long car rides like Dean.

Dean, however, was disappointed.

They wound up in Watkins, Colorado where a country motel and Lulu’s Inn lay waiting for them. It was lunchtime, and Cas was hungry once more.

Lulu’s was cute. Full of truckers, but cute. They had a basic, heartburn-inducing American menu, but Dean didn’t touch his. He looked upset. Cas saw the anger tantrum from a mile away, dealing with these storms for a while.

“What’s your problem?”

Dean sniffed and looked anywhere but Cas or his menu. Cas tried again.

“Either talk to me or order something to eat. We had a good few hours, don’t ruin it now.”

It was harsh talk but Cas had learned that Dean didn’t appreciate pussy-footing around the issue. And, on a selfish level, he didn’t want his own good mood going back out the door.

“I was hoping to get farther.” Dean mumbled.

Cas shook his head, “We aren’t on any time restriction. We aren’t racing anyone. There’s no problem spending the rest of the day here.”

Dean didn’t look much better. Cas went on.

“If you’re feeling better later do you want to find a bar in Aurora?”

“You can’t get shitfaced if you’re driving. I shouldn’t drink.”

“No, but you can laugh at me trying to play pool.” _And look at the chicks_ he almost said, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Plus, one drink wouldn’t kill them.

Dean looked better after that, ordering a burger with fries. They ate in silence.

The Country Manor Motel was a pretty popular spot for being in the middle of nowhere.

But, they soon figured out, it presented a problem.

“I’m sorry, sir, the only room we have available for tonight is a one-bed economy,” the nice girl said at the counter with finality.

Cas sighed. Dean waited out by the car, talking to Sam on the phone. He glanced back at him, and Dean caught his eye, winked, and went back to his conversation. It reminded Cas so much of pre-Michael Dean it almost hurt his heart.

“All right, yeah I’ll take it.”

The girl didn’t question the two men about to be shoved into a shoebox comprised of one bed and a TV. She looked younger, Cas figured, and was probably more hip to the idea.

Not like anything was going to happen. Cas was going to make sure he was always facing away from Dean, and hung on the edge of his side of the bed.

As Cas walked out into the hot sun, he thought of ways to mitigate the situation. He’d sleep in the car. He’d sleep on the floor -- who knows, maybe the girl screwed up and there _was_ going to be a couch there.

Dean hung the phone up as Cas approached.

“Who peed in… your coffee?” He asked, grabbing one of the room keys.

“No one. No one, it just… smelled weird in there. Anyways, this is the only room left. There’s one queen bed. It’s an economy.”

Dean listened as he turned to grab his bag out of the backseat. He didn’t say anything.

“Is that okay? Or should we find another motel?”

Dean was still bent over, and Cas couldn’t see his face. The silence scared him a sliver and he pocketed his room key. He assumed without a no, it’s probably a yes.

“I can always sleep in the car or something.”

At that, Dean finally finished gathering his belongings and turned, clutching the car door.

“You’re not sleeping in the car. It’s a hundred degrees out here and it won’t be great at night. We’ll just share,” He started to walk to the door, “Just keep your hands to yourself!” Dean dropped another wink just so Cas got that he was joking.

The room was _tight_. There was hardly room on either side of the bed for them to walk. There was just enough space for the dresser that held the TV to extend its drawers, but they would have to hop over the bed to reach the window and air conditioner. Dean wanted that side, but Cas expressed the worry that if Dean needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, he might trip.

Dean brushed him off and collapsed onto the bed, shoes off and jacket dropped on the floor. He stretched, and at this point Cas looked away, feeling heat rise up in his cheeks. He needed to stop.

“Where are… you going?” Dean asked, already half asleep, arms draped to his sides and head turned towards the window.

“Just to get the suitcases. I don’t want anything melting in there.”

Without another word, Cas moved outside the door and into the sunlit parking lot.

He grabbed both his and Dean’s suitcases out of the backseat, blood rushing in his ears. He didn’t think this would be a problem, especially so _soon_. They _just left_ Lebanon. They were only _six hours_ on the road.

Cas steadied himself against the top of the car, his hand feeling like he stuck it on a stovetop but he kept it there, leaning his head against it. Breathe in. Breathe out. The warmth reminded him of Michael, of what he did, of what he said.

“He doesn’t know what you said, so stop worrying about it. Don’t be an idiot,” Cas scolded himself. The hot air didn’t help his hot blood but he willed himself to calm down. It would be a _very_ long trip if he didn’t get control of himself.

Dean’s made it clear, more than once, that he viewed Cas as family, as a brother, not unlike Sam or Jack. Cas knew becoming human would screw with his emotions, but he had expected this thing for Dean to eventually fade, that his love would also eventually evolve into a brotherly one. But two years after his decision the love remained the same,and it was infuriating.

In a rush of understanding, Cas realized that his nerves weren’t for Dean’s health on this trip. That had been improving week by week. It was he’d somehow ruin whatever relationship he had with Dean. He hadn’t been human as long as others in his circle, but he knew from stories and books that unrequited love fractured relationships.

Cas felt tears running down his hot cheeks, and wiped them away with his other hand, horrified.

And he didn’t know Dean watched him the whole time from the front window.

**THREE**

Cas made good on his promise to take Dean to a bar.

He let Dean sleep for the afternoon while he read one of Dean’s books. He didn’t mind the break from the road. He wasn’t used to long distances like Dean was.

But around eight that night, Dean woke up energized and ready to go. They found a bar only ten minutes down the road with pool tables and food.

Frontier Club sat like a spit on the side of East Colfax Avenue, and was an easy ride. The bar was crowded on a Friday night. The hum of patrons, bikers, and random groupings of friends out for a good time buzzed in the air. Cas felt, for the first time, relaxed.

This place was a good distraction.

Dean went to get them a beer as Cas set up the pool table. He’d promised Dean a stupid attempt at the game, and he’d deliver.

He lined up the stick, bending over the table. He aimed, shot, and the balls went nowhere he wanted them. Dean laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a little squeeze.

“We’re… going to f-fix you.” And he bent over and took the shot. Cas didn’t look at him, but chugged his beer a bit until Dean stood back up.

 

They played, and drank. Dean said he would only drink one, but Cas felt better after a beer, and they _were_ close by to the motel. Dean could handle his alcohol a lot better than Cas could so they ordered another one.

As Cas bent over to take another shot, feeling good about himself, he caught Dean at the bar chatting up some chick. He looked relaxed, though from a distance Cas could still tell Dean was stumbling over his words. But the girl, probably drunk, just giggled. Dean held up three fingers and bought her a drink.

A small slice of anger tore through Cas He remembered that only the other night he told himself they had to be careful with money since Dean couldn’t hustle pool anymore. They had the fake credit cards, but Cas wanted to use those as little as possible. And here Dean was buying some random hookup a drink.

He shook his head, getting the annoyance out of there. A drink at a shit hole like this would only cost a few bucks, and it’s not like Dean could bring her back to the room anyways.

Unless he kicked Cas out for a few hours, which wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.

He finished his beer in one gulp. He hoped that wouldn’t happen.

It didn’t. Dean came back with the extra drinks, a treat to themselves. He did, however, keep his eyes trained on the girl all night, sometimes flashing her a dashing smile when she glanced over.

Cas pretended not to notice.

Both of them sucked at pool, Dean not able to keep his hand steady enough to aim properly, and Cas just not having the born talent to shoot straight.

Cas allowed Dean to have one more _small_ drink, and that made Dean a happy man. They sat at the table, ate some shit food, and chatted about nothing once more. Finally, just before midnight, they headed back out to the motel. Cas felt a bit woozy, but that was nothing compared to Dean stumbling back to the car. He only had three drinks, but Cas guessed his assumption Dean could hold his liquor was a couple years out of date.

But it was okay. Everything was fine. They were on no time constraint. Hadn’t he said that earlier? They didn’t have more than what they could sleep off in one night.

Dean got to the passenger side of the door and rolled his hand like a clock, waiting for Cas to come over and unlock the car. He looked stupid with his hand hung limp in the air and his head down, trying to steady himself.

“Lightweight,” Cas called to him as he fumbled with the keys in his hand.

“Speak for y-yourself. I think… I’m doin’... fine” Dean mumbled, sliding into the passenger seat with more grace than he did walking out to the car.

Cas laughed at that for some reason. He wasn’t drunk, but he did feel better. His mood lifted when the girl from earlier left the bar with her giggling friends. A pack of gigglers. Giggle girls.

The ride home was slower just owing to the fact that Cas didn’t want to crash. He wasn’t driving drunk, no, but Dean had cranked the radio as a Rush song came on and he was howling along with it, pausing here and there as his words tripped up. But he looked so happy, so Cas tried singing along too, which caused Dean to laugh. It was a good night.

The panic of earlier hours melted away on the drive back to the motel. It was a completely different feel than the sleepy, warm drive from Lebanon to Watkins. Cas didn’t need to be an angel to feel the energy radiating off of Dean. It wasn’t chaotic, but it felt more like his former self. A self, some would say, wasn’t too great. But shoving aside all the traumatizing events of the past decade, Dean felt like how Dean was meant to be.

And in that drive, Cas had another one of his revelations for the day. He realized his is what this road trip was meant to do. Nothing about hiding true feelings, nothing about chaperoning a recovering man from one of the worst experiences you could go through as a human -- it was bringing Dean back from the dead. Bringing back from his comatose, hidden-away self.

Cas smiled the whole ride home, laughing as Dean did his best impression of a howling dog.

The one bed problem didn’t even bother Cas as he got ready to turn in for the night. The fact Dean just stripped down to his underwear and t-shirt also didn’t bother him. His brain seemed to shut down any thoughts of anxiety or sadness, and just focused on the basic need of _sleep_. It’d been a long day for both of them.

Dean started to snore before Cas even finished brushing his teeth, out as his head hit the pillow. His back was turned, facing the back window where the soft glow of the street light pour into the room and cast Dean in a warm light. Cas closed the curtains, refusing to look at the sleeping man behind him, and eased himself into bed. He was careful to stay on the very edge.

Dean’s body heat had already warmed the underside of the covers, and Cas could feel the fabric moving with every breath the man took. It felt like an earthquake. He didn’t know how he could fall asleep. The booze-induced wall of safety was crumbling and his anxiety started to come back. He layed, curled up, rigid as a board. At some point, sleep overtook him, but not before images of Dean screaming at him for being crazy and _it’s not like that_ filled his mind.

He was sleeping on a rock. That’s what Cas first thought when he woke around four to go to the bathroom. He was sleeping on a rock. He somehow got out of the bed, went out to the parking lot, and just decided to sleep there. It was also hot.

But no. When he opened his eyes he was still in the room, and the fire alarm in the upper corner still blinked lazily as it watched over them. But, the low hum of the air conditioner was off. Must have broken. They weren’t exactly staying at The Four Seasons. Sweating, Cas moved his stiff legs into a straighter position, and that’s when he felt the rock.

Except it wasn’t a rock at all, because rocks don’t breathe against people’s necks, or snore. The rock, pressing against his backside wasn’t a rock at all, but a hot and heavy presence just like the room’s air that encased both men on the bed.

The breath seemed to vacate Cas’s lungs all at once as he stuffed a knuckle in his mouth to keep himself from making a noise. The alcohol had evaporated from him at some point in the night, and in its place Cas’s heart tried to hammer out of its cage.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, only that at some point Dean rolled closer, pushing his hard-on even more into Cas. He wanted to scream. Every fiber of his now red-blooded, male body and soul wanted to push back, to wake Dean up and do everything he’d seen in the pornos, everything he’d been curious about over the years. Cas was aware his breathing became more ragged, more sporadic. Dean was practically draping himself against Cas, making the room even hotter. To his horror, he felt himself slowly rising up to the same aroused state as the man behind him. The girl came to mind, Dean’s alcoholic state responding to the fleshy thighs exposed by her barely there dress and her white teeth smile.

In his delirious thought-stream, he remembered of one of the songs on that tape Dean had given him.

_If it keeps on rainin' levee's goin' to break_

This kept on going, Cas was going to break.

He forced himself out of the bed, not caring if he disturbed Dean while he did it. Without looking back at the bed, he went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

 _Praying won’t do you no good_.

He wished he could pray. But nobody was listening. He knew the truth, and to be fair, he didn’t want to chance that his brothers and sisters (those left) and God would be listening to his arousal problems. Cas ran some cold water and splashed it on his face. He thought about taking care of the issue at hand, but he couldn’t count on being quiet enough not to wake Dean up.

Instead he sat. And he waited.

**FOUR**

Dean wasn’t an idiot. There were things he couldn’t process too well anymore, and he couldn’t talk without sounding like Porky Pig but he wasn’t an idiot.

The second day dawned on their road trip and he woke to an empty bed. Cas’s side was neatly tucked in, and the air conditioner, which shut off at some point in the night, roared back to life. The sun was already up, and the alarm clock next to Dean read eight thirty. Breakfast time.

Moving sucked, but he was constantly told that the more he did it, the better he’d recover. Sam told him his theory of the stroke, but Dean felt like it was more than that. But he kept moving anyway.

Dean sat up, rubbed his eyes, and swung his legs over the bed. His head twinged a bit, but not as much as he feared it would when he knocked back that final shot. Cas let him drink more than originally promised, and it felt good. Under Sam’s watchful eye, Dean was regimented in his recovery. Some alcohol wouldn’t kill him. A lot probably would, but he wouldn’t drink a lot. He wanted his wits about him.

He sniffed his jeans to see if any beer was spilt last night, but he was in the clear. He shoved them back on, ignoring the suitcase full of clean clothes on the other side of the room. He hated doing laundry.

Cas took his phone with him so Dean tapped out a message, taking longer than usual. He hated it.

_Where are you?_

Dean stumbled over to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He was always so stiff in the morning. He also had the remnants of a hard-on, something that was new. He didn’t remember much over the past two years but he knew sex was always last on his list. Blushing, he took care of the problem quick and easy, glad Cas wasn’t there. He hoped with all his might that the other man didn’t notice with their bed-sharing.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and Dean took it out to see the message.

_At Lulu’s. Just sat down. Breakfast?_

Dean tucked himself back in, brushed his teeth, and hurried out the door.

The little problem from the night before triggered a cascade of thoughts through Dean’s head as he locked the door and wandered over to the diner next to the motel. He hadn’t been feeling particularly sexy last night, especially at a bar that looked like it should have seen the end of days when the economy crashed. Some lady was chatting him up, and he bought her a drink to shut her up, but other than that --

Other than that the only other thing that got his blood boiling was when he was playing pool. Both of them bending over, long rods in hand and concentration --

He felt himself starting up again and had to stop. Again, Dean Winchester wasn’t an idiot. He assumed this was a backlog of years with little to no action, especially the last two, but he didn’t need it showing when the man he least wanted to show it off to was sitting at the breakfast table.

Having a wet dream next to Cas would be the top of Dean’s nightmares.

The first thing Dean did when he came back to himself was lie. Well, not exactly, the first thing Dean did when he came back to himself was collapse into blackness. But when he woke up, he found he couldn’t talk. He had been shocked to hear he was in a near catatonic state for nearly three months, but wasn’t surprised. Those months he couldn’t talk or move were like hell after.

But his first lie was when Cas asked him if he remembered what happened with Michael inside his head, and he shook his head no.

A lie if he ever told one. He remembered everything. He remembered sometimes _being_ Michael and hurting Sam or Cas or even Jack, but he couldn’t climb out. Eventually Michael put him in his place, and then all Dean remembered was a beach.

And on the beach, eventually, Cas came forward. Dean heard him, but didn’t listen. It wasn’t his job to listen anymore, according to Michael, and if Dean kept listening and kept _struggling_ , Michael was going to kill everyone he loved. He was backed into a corner, and so he sat on his beach.

The second lie he told was when Cas asked him if Dean remembered what he said. That came months later, when Dean could finally get the words out of his mouth. He said no.

That was a _big_ lie.

He remembered everything Cas said to him, word for word, reflection on reflection and they echoed in his head as soon as he came to.

What got him going inside his mind were those words. The confirmation that his feelings matched what Dean had been consumed by for years, but kept pushed back due to duty and the job. And Cas was an angel. That would mess things up. Dean wasn’t good with the love and _love_ and shit like that, but it was still enough for him to turn on Michael, who had been watching the whole exchange in Dean’s mind, and shove him out.

He didn’t remember how that happened, just the neverending screaming. He heard everyone’s voices around him, but faintly. They were urgent, and hands clawed at his arms, legs, and neck. He heard Cas, which helped calm him, but after Michael broke free, there was a flash of white light and Dean was out of it.

But he didn’t tell anyone that. Because when Dean started to get his wits about him again, he didn’t know if Cas truly meant any of what he said inside.

And thus, the whirlwind of Dean’s affections for Cas manifested in the self doubt and fear that kept him stuck in circles for _years_.

He never cared about men much. Some celebrities, maybe, and he could appreciate a fine looking man but never did he feel what he felt with this one in particular. But, like the good man he was, he kept it stuffed down never to see the light of day. He covered it with _like a brother_ and _like family_ but when Cas was killed in front of his own eyes, he couldn’t keep his grief in. Sam knew. Of course Sam knew. He didn’t have to be told. He could read his brother as well as his brother could read him. But to Sam’s credit, he never brought it up. And he was confident in his lapse of consciousness, Cas was never told.

And Dean was confident Cas never confided in the others what he said to Dean.

But that’s why Dean just wanted Cas on this road trip. That’s why he didn’t bring anyone else. He needed to know if Cas truly did feel what he said, and that it wasn’t just desperation to get Dean back from the void.

And it gave Dean some time with no distractions to work himself up to what he thought they both needed. Because if Cas did, in fact, feel that way, then Dean was going to need all the concentration he could not to fuck anything up.

That wasn’t going to be helped by shoving a boner in the man’s face on the first morning out on the road.

Lulu’s was just like Paul’s in that it had beige interior, and smelled of scrambled eggs and coffee. Families were crammed into booths and chairs, children holding the massive diner menus in their fat fists.

Cas sat at a table on the far right of the dining room, looking over the menu. He squinted slightly, in the way that made Dean wonder if he might need glasses down the road. Humanity might have some perks for him, but it’s not all peaches and cream.

Dean slid into the chair, making sure to hide his crotch in case any residual rise decided to give him away. But Cas wasn’t looking at Dean. He was staring at the menu with rapt attention, and Dean picked up his.

Another thing he hated was he didn’t want to eat as much anymore. The bacon looked amazing, the sandwiches made his mouth water but his stomach just didn’t want any of it. Another thing he cursed Michael for. Some days, he could pack away a decent sized lunch but those days were rare. He wished they weren’t, for himself and for the looks he got from Cas, concerned expressions always turned towards him. He knew he’d lost an unhealthy amount of weight, but nothing could be helped.

After Dean remarked how anything he ordered would be put to waste, Cas ordered a chef’s special to split. It came with a short stack of chocolate chip pancakes, two fried eggs, bacon, and sausages. For an extra buck, they made you homemade hash.

The waitress shot them a strange look when Cas ordered for the both of them, which was enough to make the morning glory close back up. Shame creeped up on the back of his neck, accompanied by goosebumps. He forgot where they were. He forgot that inside his own head were his personal battles, but there were still people out in the world who would rather see his head on a spike than see him sharing pancakes with his friend.

Cas watched him, much like how Dean watched Cas when they first arrived yesterday. His gaze looked distant, like he was looking at Dean but not really processing what he was seeing. The thousand yard stare is what Bobby would call them. Dean ignored him, and stirred sugar into his coffee, thinking of ways to make sure his brain and dick didn’t give him away on the road today.

Food eaten, bags backed, and keys returned, they marked another day on the road. Dean almost got into the driver’s side door as Cas finished up inside when he remembered he couldn’t really drive anymore. He tried, and almost flipped the car a few months ago. His hands would shake, his vision would double, and his right leg would deaden after a while behind the wheel. That was something he hated. That was something that brought the anger tantrums to the surface.

Dean hated when he acted like that, but sometimes it was like a whole different monster had taken over his brain. He’d say things he didn’t mean, wasn’t even thinking, or ever would think. At first, he saw the hurt in Cas’s eyes, and that would push the tantrums even more into overdrive, horrifying Dean. The rest of them would get some of it as well, but it was Cas who eventually hardened to them and fired the straight talk back to Dean. He was the one who handled it the best. It’s probably why the rage monster targeted him the most. Everyone else floundered.

Dean could feel one coming on as he shuffled over to the passenger side. He couldn’t get much of his breakfast down, and he kept watching Cas devour the sausages like --

He shook his head, and ripped the passenger side door open, falling into the seat with a huff.

Cas same strolling out, checking both ways before crossing the parking lot with his bag and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Dean watched him, annoyance growing but not at the man walking towards him but just at life, in general. If he was better, if his stupid fucking brain worked, if _anything_ worked like it was supposed to, this trip wouldn’t be frustrating. But now, on the _second fucking day_ Dean was popping boners left and right and arguing with himself on when to talk to Cas about That.

He threw his jacket into the backseat as Cas settled himself down into the driver's seat. Dean’s driver seat. That was his. This whole car was his. This whole trip was his idea.

Cas started the car with a roar. The air conditioner blasted still-hot air into Dean’s face, furthering his growing agitation. He hated this monster, but it was like Michael all over again. He just retreated.

He jammed a finger at the radio and his cassette tape of AC/DC shouted back at him. They must have blared it last night on the way home. Dean didn’t remember. He didn’t remember all that much.

“STUPID THING!” Dean heard himself yell before slamming the radio with his hand. He watched this, instead of participating in it. His hand hurt, he was aware of that, and a small part of metal had sliced his hand a bit at the base of his pointer finger. He stuck it in his mouth, turning away from Cas who didn’t flinch at all, and glared out the window. He waited for the monster to leave.

Cas said nothing, but turned the radio down, and eased the car forward.

A few minutes went by as they rolled onto the highway and into the Saturday morning traffic heading to the city.

“Do you need a bandage?” Cas asked, quiet. So quiet in fact, Dean almost didn’t hear him over the rushing of blood in his ears. The monster was retreating after he found nothing to yell and scream at.

Dean sighed.

“Yeah.”

Cas nodded, and Dean stretched an arm behind Cas into the backseat, ruffling around until he felt a small, metal box of band-aids. He pulled one out, and retreated back to his seat, trying to figure out the placement of the bandage. His shaking hand got worse after monster attacks, and now he couldn’t figure out the bandage. But instead of the anger coming back, he only let out a sob of frustration.

AC/DC sang to them about sex all night long as Cas pulled off the next exit shoulder, and turned to Dean.

Still without a word, he took Dean’s left hand in one of his, and the unwrapped bandage in another. He figured the placement out immediately and smoothed the bandage over with his thumbs. Dean felt like a small, helpless child, but revelled in the feeling of intimacy. It was only a bite of what his body craved, but it was something that soothed the beast and allowed his heart to calm a bit.

They drove silently through Denver and started small conversation again as they disappeared into the mountains.

**FIVE**

Naomi came to Cas about two weeks after Dean overthrew Michael.

He had been out at a farm stand, getting the big ears of corn for Sam when he felt her, circling around him with someone else near her. A small nugget of panic developed as he hurried to drive away. If he was going to fight, he didn’t want innocent bystanders in the way. But he didn’t want to fight; he wouldn’t win in his current state.

Once he got more safely down the road, he saw Naomi and the redhead known to him as Sister Jo, or Anael. He started, wondering if he could rev Baby’s engine and strike the two of them. But he remembered they were full up, they were topped off, they had the juice to just fix themselves. All Cas would do is kill their vessel.

Slow, not taking his eyes off the two, he slid out of the car. Naomi’s now blonde, almost white hair shining in the sun. Anael’s teeth were just as white. They looked friendly. Friendly, and of course, deadly.

“What do you want?” It wasn’t less a question from Cas than a demand.

Naomi smiled that sinister smile and glanced down at her feet before addressing him.

“We want to help, Castiel. We know what you did to help Dean Winchester, and we know you’re already low on grace. We just want to help.”

Anael nodded, like she was in some preacher’s sermon. Cas pointed to her.

“You know who she worked with, right?”

Naomi nodded, keeping her serene smile, “Yes we know. We’re keeping an eye on her, which is why she’s with me today. But she’s not what we’re here for, Castiel.”

She stepped closer.

“Dean’s saved. The family is safe. We need your help now that the distractions are over.”

Distractions. That’s what angels always thought of the Winchesters. Only distractions, pulling him off the main plot. If it wasn’t the apocalypse, it was rebuilding heaven. If it wasn’t this, it was that. Only distractions.

Cas had thought about the possibility of returning. He thought about it as much as he could with everything else going on. A small part of him had hoped that Gabriel would fix it. Out of all of the archangels, he was the least chaotic, if that made sense.

But he hadn’t been able to think about it much. And he told them so.

“I’ve been busy. It’s been crazy. Can you please just give me one more week?”

Naomi stared at him. She didn’t seem surprised, but what little hope remained in her eyes flamed out. Anael just watched.

“We’ll come back in a week then. This spot.” Naomi took one step closer, and Cas braced himself. “If you’re not here, we will still find you.”

“You won’t kill me.”

“No, we won’t,” Naomi sneered, “But you’ll wish we had.”

And with that, they were gone. Cas finally exhaled.

That night, he talked to Sam.

He purposefully didn’t tell Dean or Sam or _anyone_ about this other than Gabriel because any talk of Heaven and angels flipped the panic button in their heads. Mary, Jack, and Bobby saw Heaven’s absolute worst, and what may have happened in this universe, and Sam and Dean took a front seat to Heaven’s ways and schemes.

Cas didn’t want to talk to Sam about it, but his head wouldn’t stop spinning, and the choice he knew some day he’d have to make was coming. Sam was stressed, and Cas didn’t want to stress him out more by surprising him with whatever decision he made.

Sam, for all his intensity with situations like this, would be helpful. He needed help sorting out the thoughts in his mind. The choice at the end of the week would force him one way or another, and he couldn’t decide right now.

He found -s reading in the library, like usual. He wasn’t really reading though, his eyes weren’t moving and his face looked too concentrated to be reading text from a book he’s most likely already read.

Everyone turned in for the night, and Dean was still in his room, unmoving and unchanging.

“I need to talk.”

Cas’s face must of betrayed any sense of calm he was trying to portray because Sam took one look at him, and threw his book down instantly, looking completely concerned.

“What’s wrong? Is it Dean, is it --” But Cas’s shaking of his head shut Sam up, and he took up a chair across from him.

“A few weeks ago, I went to Heaven. Naomi was there,” Sam made a noise of a mixture of fear and anger but Cas waved him off. He needed to finish, “Naomi, other angels… they said they needed my help. There’s only nine of them left. I don’t think they knew about Gabriel so I guess it would have been ten but -- they found me today.”

Cas swallowed, looking down at his hands to avoid Sam’s intense stare.

“Naomi and Anael, Sister Jo, they found me. I managed to buy a week.”

A long pause followed. Cas hoped Sam would work the rest out himself. But when he said nothing, Cas sighed and continued.

“I have to choose to go back with them, or if I don’t, I have to figure out how to get them off my trail.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a choice,” Sam stated.

“No, but, it’s there if you squint.”

Another pause, then:

“What are you thinking?”

Cas sighed again, “I don’t know. On one hand, it’s Heaven, it’s my home and it’s my family in a way. But Naomi is scary, I don’t trust Anael, and --”

“They fuck you over every time you go back there,” Sam stood, Cas followed, “This isn’t a conversation you should be having with me. I’ll be sad if you go, but you didn’t see Dean after you died last year. You need to have this conversation with him.”

“Sam, he’s in a coma.”

Sam actually laughed at that, and made to leave Cas.

“Yeah sure, but you do crazy things so you’ll figure it out.”

Dean was, indeed, in a coma. That’s what they called it anyways. He responded to contact on his skin, but he wouldn’t open his eyes or speak to them. He just layed in bed, and breathed.

“What am I supposed to do?” Cas asked, quiet. He wasn’t sure if Dean was awake he’d still hear him.

Cas deposited his coat on the desk and pulled the chair over to the side of the bed, sitting down with a loud huff. He couldn’t keep looking at Dean like that, so he covered his eyes with his hands, resting his elbows on the top of his thighs.

After years of side-stepping it, the problem was finally in front of his face and won’t leave.

Dean’s breathing was quiet, but Cas could still hear it. He reckoned he could hear it better than anyone else in the bunker, excluding Jack. The soft breath calmed him down a bit, but, as he shifted in his chair, realized the problem still wouldn’t go away.

Cas wished he could pray as unknowing and innocent like others around the world. He wished he could imagine all his problems and hard decisions solved by a prayer to God or Saint Anthony.

But all he could pray to now, the only remaining being in his life that he wanted to talk to about all this problems, was the unconscious form of Dean Winchester.

Now, sitting next to Dean, Cas let himself exhale with one harsh breath. Dean looked like he was only sleeping, and the thought of that infuriated Cas sometimes. If only that simple explanation could be true. But Cas knew better, they all knew better. There was some sort of battle going on in Dean’s head, most likely, and they couldn’t help at all.

The room filled with Dean’s steady breathing.

“I don’t know what to do.” Cas’s own words felt foreign mixing with the meditative sound coming from Dean. They felt foreign to his own ears. The words came out soft, almost a whine, a tone he never spoke in while on Earth.

Dean remained unchanged, but Cas couldn’t help himself.

“I don’t know what to do,” He repeated, “I’m confused, and I don’t want to make the wrong decision. Anything I choose is --”

Permanent. Anything Cas chose would be irreversible and the word alone made him cringe. He’d been able to move between the planes of existence with enough ease to make it normal. Heaven didn’t always want him, but he still stayed connected. Earth didn’t always want him, but he stayed connected. An image of him, stretching his arms between two homes came to mind. He kept stretching, and stretching, his arms becoming long like rubber bands. He knew one would snap soon. The stretch was exhausting, and the end of the line was fast approaching.

He expected the walls in the tiny room around him to close in, but they didn’t. He expected the floor to drop below him, or the ceiling to cave in, but it didn’t. Things weren’t always as dramatic as Cas sometimes thought, something he’s realized over the years. It can seem like it, but as insignificant as humans were in the timeline of the universe, so was Cas and his decisions, in a way.

Does Heaven actually need him? What impact would he have with his barely there grace, and his inability to follow orders up there? Even if Naomi started her antics again, he always broke through. Even before Dean, even before meeting the Winchesters and staying on Earth for the longest he’s ever done for one stay, he’s always broken through.

So what good will that be?

But then, there was the Heaven that Cas _did_ love, and _did_ miss. They were a family, for better or worse.

 _And you killed a good portion of them_.

The thought squashed any loving memories that began to grow in his mind. The particular one of thousands of angels killed in the very garden he loved to stay at up there pushed through, almost painfully.

Cas sat up in the chair, leaning forward with the heels of his hands in his eyes, trying to scrub the memory out of his mind.

But the reality of what he did settled over him again, like a cold wave. He wanted to go home, but he destroyed home. The guilt pushed him to go back and fix what he did but what good did that ever do him, or anyone? More importantly, why did Naomi think this time would be different? _What will she do to me?_

Cas watched Dean’s face, unmoving in sleep. He wondered if dreams were playing out inside Dena’s head, but doubt they were. He’s seen how Dean sleeps, how he dreamed, and this was completely foreign.

Another reality closed in on him, one he’s faced before but this one tasted different. The idea of never seeing Dean again has been confronted before, and challenged, but Cas knew this would be the final time if he went back up to Heaven. They really would seal off the gates, and he wouldn’t be allowed back down to Earth until well after Dean was dead and burned.

That opened the floodgates. Dean, Sam, Mary, Jack, and even Bobby-Not-Bobby who still didn’t trust him. The only one who would outlive them all as long as Cas would be Jack, but even Cas couldn’t be with him, breaking his own promise to Kelly.

Now, instead of feeling stretched between only two things, he felt hooks in him, pulling him in all directions. But

But

What good would he be to them without his grace? Even with as little as he had he was able to pull Dean back from the brink of the Void, and he could still do small healings. What good would he be? What use could he be?

“What am I supposed to do?” Cas asked again, more small, more pathetic sounding making him cringe against himself.

His experiences with total humanity didn’t go well last time. He was kicked out, pushed out, living among nice but sometimes strange people, and was still hunted. Cas could still be hunted now, even with a diminished threat. The difference would be he couldn’t fight back.

 _You could barely fight back now_.

That was true.

And no matter the choice, he’d have to fight.

So who did he want to fight alongside?

His mind worked the problem down to that question, and then _where’s my faith_. Did he believe in Heaven still? Or, was Cas just trying to hold onto some nostalgic memory of what Once Was.

_Once Was wasn’t ever something that you did well with, buck-o_

Without thinking, Cas bent forward again and took one of Dean’s hands. It was one of the only ways they could be sure he was still in there. His skin remained warm, instead of cold and clammy like a dying corpse. That, along with the small rise of his breathing chest gave them some hope.

His fingers found what he wanted, and rested there, on Dean’s wrist. The steady beat of his pulse vibrated, signalling to anyone who felt it that there was _something_ there. _I’m alive. I’m alive_

I’m alive.

The pulse screamed to Cas every time he felt it, but now it screamed something different.

Don’t give up.

 _Don’t give up on me_.

And what about them. He loved everyone else that lived in their circle but the admission to both himself and Dean in the middle of that room with Michael within earshot settled it in concrete for him. He did love him, and not in the way that love had been thrown about with various members of those living with them. A real love, one that Angels certainly can’t feel, unless they are ordered to.

It was organic, whatever this was.

He had no guarantee that Dean would even wake up from this, let alone follow the complicated path to land wherever Cas did on their relationship spectrum.

Cas knows the stories of heartbreak that can plague the weakest of men. Sometimes people even die of a broken heart, or unreciprocated love. When Cas was human, he felt things so strongly, he hated it with every fiber of his being (though he assumed the hatred was also magnified by his newly known status of being).

Did he want to go through that again? What if Dean never woke up? What if the beating pulse that shone in the dark like a lighthouse faded away?

They’d keep on living.

 _They’d keep on living with each other, and Cas wouldn’t outlive them_.

The decision had started to emerge in the fog of his mind has he pressed his fingertips into Dean’s pulse, like a lifeline.

He supposed it all eventually came down to faith, much like everything.

Did he have faith in Heaven? Not anymore.

Did he have faith in this family? In Dean? Yes.

And they had faith in him.

Cas stood, the chair retreating with a kick from the back of his knees. He let go of Dean’s wrist, and instead moved further up the bed. With one sharp exhale, he placed both his hands over Dean’s chest, where his heart remained beating out a dutiful rhythm of life. The organ was more powerful in this catatonic state than Cas’s grace was as it whispered pitifully around him. Maybe he’d been human already and just not knew it. Maybe the decision was made from the choices he made along the way.

He pressed, and concentrated. What was left in him wasn’t enough to tap into Dean’s subconscious anymore, but the glow still manifested itself on Cas’s hands, flowing down to the skin underneath the sleep shirt.

The warmth spread up his forearms, through his shoulder blades and the base of his neck, up to the back of his head like someone pouring a glass of warm water up him in reverse. It felt good. The grace didn’t want to get out of him so it tried making him feel good. He was doing it the slow way, the only way that would get it out with the least possible danger. There wasn’t enough to cut out, and Jack didn’t know how to extract the smallest traces of Grace safely. He asked about it once, but Cas didn’t give him that knowledge. Not yet. Jack can choose his humanity at some point, but now wasn’t the time. He didn’t experience enough of it yet.

The warmth leveled out, and a steady hum started up in Cas’s ears, making his vision swim. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a strange sensation.

He’s seen this done twice before in his lifetime, and he hoped it would work for him. It was a more natural way of ridding your grace as an angel.

Dispersing your grace could have gone into a tree, an animal, or a human. It didn’t give the object the grace, but helped make whatever it was better. It was seen as helping God’s creation. Some took this on when they wanted to live amongst humans. But that’s not what Angels were supposed to be for. They were supposed to protect Earth, not become it. But still, a small sect of angels went down with this belief system. It wasn’t painful for angels, and it helped out what they were sworn to protect. Some viewed it as the ultimate protection, but most saw it as suicide.

But it was only suicide because Angels like Cas were sent in after them to kill them after they did what they did.

Cas remembered one, Eremiel, who helped a man he fell in love with back when humans still wrote on stone tablets, before the plague, before the smiting.

The man was dying of some illness, and Eremiel had been on earth for years, protecting them. In some ways, centuries later, Cas realized the irony of the story, facing his own right now. In this moment, Cas understood what Eremiel felt, with Naomi and her brainless sect coming after him to eradicate him and his behavior before it spread.

Cas watched Eremiel heal this man in their shack in Palestine. Cas watched his hands hold the man’s head, gentle. The glow had, at that point, encompassed them, and Eremiel looked at peace.

The man lived, the illness gone, and Cas couldn’t bring himself to kill Eremiel. That was the last thing he remembered before Naomi wiped his brain, remembering it only a couple years ago. Cas figured it was things like that which knocked him off course, seeing rebellious angels. But they kept making the mistake of sending him to them.

But Eremiel told him that this is what Angels should be for, and now, so long after Cas let Eremiel and his lover leave, the words echoed back to him.

He held his hands to Dean’s heart, because that’s where he felt the most life force. Eremiel felt brain waves, and Cas felt the steady beating of Dean’s heart. It called to him, reaching out to him like Cas reached out to it.

Cas closed his eyes, and concentrated. The vibrations from the heart under his hands travelled up his arms, and into his own head. It wasn’t loud, but a soothing beat. It radiated outward, and soon it felt like the whole room was full of it, but it only remained in Cas’s body. It felt intimate. Eremiel didn’t go into detail with this part. Cas rolled with it. He didn’t know when his grace would be done, Eremiel just said _you’d know_ , so Cas remained in his position.

He never felt tired, or sick, and the heat never became the kind of hot like when he touched Dean with Michael still there. It was a joining of some kind that connected Cas straight to Dean’s soul, whatever that was left. The grace would help. It had to help.

There wasn’t a sudden cut off, Cas just soon understood that the over-amplified noises were quieting, slowly fading around him and in him. He felt the temperature of the room, could smell the stale air, and Dean’s breathing was no longer easy for him to hear. The constant _hum_ that always coursed through him with the grace was gone, and for the first time in a long time, Cas felt absolutely still.

He looked down at his hands, and they no longer glowed. He could still feel the heartbeat, but not like before. He felt it with human hands.

Cas inhaled, and exhaled. A needed action in a human body. He did it again, and again, and again --

Tears arrived next, without warning, filling his vision and causing Dean to blur and swim in front of him. At one point, he sat back in the chair, feeling everything a little more, but also a little less than normal. Blinking, the tears fell, sliding slow down his cheeks and falling onto his shirt. He felt joy, fear, anxiety, and something deeper all growing in him at once as emotions once held back by any angelic guard still in him.

His own heart beat started hammering as the anxiety bloomed like an explosion, and suddenly Cas felt too hot. He threw himself from the chair, which clattered to the floor in his wake as he ripped open the door.

Sam’s door was closed, his light off, but Cas didn’t care about how much noise he made. He needed to make it, he needed to hear something. Running past all the doors in the hall, he turned a sharp left, throwing his shoulder into the corner. Pain bloomed there but he didn’t care. He almost laughed with the feeling. It broke through the dullness that surrounded him.

Cas rushed through the bunker, hauling himself up the stairs. He was heavy now, a solid form that felt like dragging weights on his legs as he ran.

Tearing open the door, the night air hit his face with a cool wind, and a full moon filling his vision.

The world looked different, smelled different, felt different. It was an assault on his senses, but at the same time, it felt like Cas was put in a muted box, and the walls were closing in. He felt things, but he didn’t feel them enough, just differently. The walls pressed in on him, sounds pulsed inside him as the jumping fish of emotion gathered in a pool of lava in his head. Too much, but not enough. Not _enough_.

Cas started to scream.

\-----

“You never told me… how it happened.”

Cas glanced over to Dean in the passenger seat. The car wandered along, westbound on I-70 through the mountains. Dean wanted to stop at Glenwood Springs before they kept moving, wanting to see Doc Holliday's grave. They had lapsed into a comfortable silence after talking about Sam’s new girlfriend and the weird, blossoming relationship between Mary and Bobby (Dean wasn’t too sure about that).

The question caught Cas off guard.

“How what happened?”

He could tell Dean was watching him.

“Many things I g-guess… but the… human thing.”

“You think now is the time to tell that story?” Cas was evading, he knew it.

“Better than ever. We have… a long trip,” Dean’s voice was getting weary, they’d been talking a lot, “Spill it.”

And Cas almost did. That story, and how they got him out of Michael, how they escaped Naomi -- all of it was on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell Dean everything, not just the watered down version they gave him when his brain was trying to catch up to the rest of the world. He of all people deserved the truth.

But, as Dean put it, they had a long trip. And if Cas slipped, and let loose the one thing that had to stay buttoned up, then everything could just spill out, ruining everything and causing the trip to be nothing but pain.

“Dean, it’s not something we should --”

“When then? When… because I know a-lot happened when… I was u-under. B-but no one will… tell me.”

“Is that why you brought me on this trip?” Cas had to ask. He still didn’t understand why he was the only one in this car. “So you could corner me into telling you everything you missed while you were under?”

“No, b-but I hoped it w-would… help.” Dean sounded exhausted again as he slumped against the door, looking out the window. Cas shot a look over to him. He looked so small like that. He looked small in general with his dramatic weight loss and slumped nature but his spirit looked constantly defeated. It hurt Cas to see him like that. He didn’t need to have to look at Dean’s soul to know it was still traumatized.

“Okay. I’ll tell you. But, no questions. Let me talk.”

Dean straightened up, and looked at him again, attentive as he could be.

So Cas talked.

His brain worked double time, planning his words out well in advance of him speaking them, catching any landmines. The tale of what Naomi and Anael said came first, with how there were so few angels left and then fabricated what Sam said as a response. Cas didn’t need Dean to know exactly what Sam said. That could lead to a dangerous road.

Cas went on, explaining to Dean his reasoning, and how he went about shedding his grace, leaving out the part of how it felt, and where exactly Cas placed his hands.

“Just like that?”

“Well, it was hard. I had to concentrate, and it was overwhelming, but it was better than cutting it out since so little was left.”

“So, do I have angel grace in me?” Dean wondered? His exhaustion seemed to have left him. They passed Doc’s grave without mentioning the stop. It didn’t matter. Dean saw it millions of times.

“No, I didn’t possess you. It healed you up some.” And then Cas went into explaining the section of Angels who believed it was ultimate protection, blah blah blah. This was the dangerous part of the story. He kept Eremiel’s story out of it. But, by the end of it, Dean’s eyes grew wide.

“How come we never heard of this before?”

Cas shook his head, “Because me and my group were charged with killing those who did it. Naomi brainwashed those who had inklings of heading that way. The only angels who remember the practice are the ones who helped kill the ones who did it.”

Cas blinked back tears as the rushing guilt of what he’s done washed over him. He killed innocent angels, he killed innocent people… he was a direct cause of Heaven’s obsolete numbers.

Just as the tears threatened to fall, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, turned, and saw Dean staring at him with equally mournful eyes. A look so very rarely seen by anyone.

“I’m happy you decided to stay with us.”

Cas sniffed, and used a free hand to wipe at his face. Yes, he wanted to stay with them, but Dean was the deciding factor. His faith brought him to one man, and one man alone managed to change the course of his existence, thus creating a chain of events that would lead to Heaven’s demise most likely. But, the guilt didn’t come from that anymore, it came from not feeling guilty about it at all. Sitting in this ancient beast of a car with a man who struggled to speak in complete sentences and had been through more than anyone on planet earth could possible dream of was all Cas needed, confession of love or not.

Cas made a deal with himself after he shed his grace, and let the screams of terror out. When he calmed down over the next several days, after the shock of what he had done wore off, he dealt with Naomi and Anael. That story was shorter. Sam and Cas trapped them in a circle of holy fire and told them to bug off. Thankfully, they knew the threat, and Naomi figured at this point, Cas wasn’t worth the fight. What could she do to him anyways?

“Well, at least you won’t be a problem anymore then.” She said, cold and unfeeling.

“Leave us alone, and we won’t be.” Cas responded. They extinguished the fire, and the two angels left. Easy-peasy.

That night, as Cas sat reading in Dean’s room, he made the deal with himself. He loved Dean, that he knew for a while and fully accepted. But, he couldn’t feel upset if Dean didn’t feel the same way back. Cas realized, with a heartbreaking acceptance, that love wasn’t always a two way street, and Dean had enough stresses in life. This was all new to Cas, but it wasn’t for Dean. So, he told himself no matter how hard it hurt (because it would now, since he’s human), that love doesn't mean the other had to love him back. That love meant he wanted Dean to succeed, and to be happy. If that didn’t include love on an intimate level other than a brotherly relationship, than so be it. It’ll be his cross to bear for lack of a better phrase. It would be his penance, his punishment for all the pain he caused to others.

He wouldn’t let himself hope that Dean would feel the same back. Cas knew that history in fragments, but the fragments said a lot of the blondes, the boobs, and the babes.

But, it was okay.

“Thanks. I’m happy I stayed too.” And he was happy he stayed. For all the ups and downs of the past, he was happy for the first time in his existence with the choices he made.

**SEVEN**

Dean almost said it then. He put his hand on Cas’s shoulder after it almost went to his thigh, his brain blending fantasy with reality.

He didn’t bring Cas on the trip to get the dirt on what he missed, he told the truth about that, but he’d be lying if he said it was completely out of his mind. Cas was easier to talk to as human. He had less filters, less reservations, less everything. Dean didn’t want to take advantage of that, but he had so many questions about everything. How he went from saying yes to Michael, flashing to just waking up in his bed, a shadow on his jaw and a distraught Sam and Cas watching him, fearful they were just imagining things.

Cas’s story on how he became human was one of the top things Dean wanted to find out, and he was delighted that he was finally given access to the story.

On a selfish level, he was happy when he learned Cas was human, because it meant he would stay with them, and Heaven couldn’t have him (not like they deserved him). But Dean could have him. And after hearing Cas’s story, it only furthered that selfish greed. Part of him didn’t even want to share Cas with the rest of the family but he knew, in order to keep appearances, that Jack and Sam would have to interact with him.

Listening to Cas’s story also made Dean’s heart hurt, because the sadness pushed through the selfishness, and he realized that Cas rejected most of his existence for this family he found on Earth.

The first time he was human wasn’t his choice. But this time was, and Dean wanted to make sure he had no regrets. At the same time, just like back in the bar all those years ago when he should have said it, Dean kept mum on his feelings. They would only cause more confusion and hurt in Cas probably, who was still figuring human life out two years after the fact.

So Dean rested his hand on his shoulder instead of his thigh, hid his boner that morning, and talked to him like he normally would. His brain caught the words before they spilled out.

And when Cas said he was happy, Dean felt it. Dean felt the warmth under the shirt, and he saw the smile -- and that was enough for Dean.

They stopped in Grand Junction for lunch, then back on the road into Utah. The landscape before them dry and arid, with small peaks of mountains in the distance. The farmland returned, and the only stations they could get out there were nothing good. But Cas wanted to listen to some rainy day jazz music so that’s what they listened to. Dean dozed off to this. It’s not like the sights were anything new. In fact, they passed right by Blackwater Ridge. Good times there.

It seemed like lifetimes ago that was.

He wasn’t completely out of it, aware of the sun that struck them from overhead, clipping just on the windscreen to bath them in some summer light. The windows were down, driving at under sixty miles an hour kept the breeze coming in hot but inviting. The music itself was calm and soothing. The piano seemed to dance on air, blending with the acoustic guitars. Dean felt like he was in a travel commercial.

He shifted his half asleep gaze over to Cas, making sure the other man wasn’t about to fall asleep as well, but he wasn't. He sat bolt upright, the only ease in his body was an arm dangling out of the car, drenched in the summer sun. Dean thought about the weird tan that’d form there, and smiled.

Then a thought occurred to him.

“When’s’veress,” he slurred, still half asleep.

Cas turned to him, the light from the barren landscape outside framing him in some ironic angelic way.

“What?”

Dean blinked his eyes, sat up, and wiped the small amount of drool on the corner of his mouth.

“When is Vegas?”

Cas smiled and pointed out the window.

“We just got into Utah. It’s going to be a while.”

“We have t-to save...money for that.”

“I have a whole wallet full of hundreds Sam gave us.”

Dean lit up at that, but Cas held up his hand.

“That’s _only_ for Vegas. Don’t even think about it.”

Dean only smiled at the scolding. He couldn’t wait for Las Vegas. Other than San Diego, that was to be one of the crowning stops of the trip. He’d only been to Vegas once, and Cas never has. Not like it was anything special, but the good thing about this road trip was Cas got to see some of the finer sides of human life, like eating club sandwiches at Harry’s and gambling your life savings away.

The smile stayed on Cas’s face as Utah stretched out before them as a wasted desert-like, alien landscape.

“I wondered why… th-the Mormons liked it h-here.” Dean wondered out loud.

“Lots of salt to keep the demons away.” Cas replied, his serious tone betrayed by his smile.

Dean laughed, and laughed.

**EIGHT**

They managed to make it to Salina, Utah before wanting to stop for the day. It was supper time, and Dean’s legs started to cramp up.

They pulled off into the Rodeway Inn, bypassing the slightly nicer Super 8 to save some money.

Once again, Cas was tasked to book the room, while Dean unloaded what he could from the car. The sun still shone on them from the west as it took its slow, lazy dive to the horizon.

“You have no rooms with two beds?”

“No sir, rooms ain’t big enough. This is an economy. There’s a pull out but between you and me, you’d be better off sleepin’ on th’floor.” The kid behind the counter advised, “But th’bed is a king so y’all should be okay on your end.”

So they accepted the room, it was only for one night anyways. First floor, at the very end, they were joined by a dozen weary travelers, but for the most part, the motel was empty. As they walked past one of the rooms, the door stood ajar with a cleaning lady inside. Cas took a glance, and in that instant, wanted to punch the desk boy straight in the face. A room with two queen sized beds. They had rooms with double beds.

He almost marched right back down to the desk and demanded _that_ room, but Dean just pushed past him, not even giving the room a second glance. Cas hitched up his bag and kept moving. It was only for one night, and this bed would be bigger than the one in Colorado. No mishaps.

They didn’t go into town. Dean didn’t care to. He stated loud and proud as he unpacked his overnight toiletries that he hated Utah. Cas asked why, but Dean didn’t elaborate other to say it’s boring, Mormons exist, and it was boring again. Cas didn’t argue. So they settled for supper at Subway, and then spent the rest of the evening in the motel room, flipping through channels. Dean kept rubbing his shin.

“There’s a hot tub.”

“What?”

Cas shifted on the bed, and pulled out one of the motel brochures.

“There’s a hot tub here, might help you out.” Cas pointed at Dean’s leg.

“Aren’t those… full of germs?”

Cas shrugged. That seemed to be enough for Dean who slid off the bed to rummage through his bag, pulling out a bathing suit. He hobbled into the bathroom to change. Cas wondered if he should go along as well. But when Dean came out of the bathroom with nothing on but board shorts, and a little nod of his head, Cas grabbed his own bathing suit in a hurry.

The good news of a deserted desert motel was no one clogged up the fun. The inground pool sat unused next to the hot tub, just big enough for the both of them. The ceilings were low, and the sunlight provided white light throughout the room. Dean sank into the hot water without a fuss, his eyes closing in bliss. Cas slid in as well, not really needing the hot tub but it felt nice against the harsh air conditioning of the motel. He hissed as the water hit his hips, and slid over his stomach as he sank down.

“Leg feeling better?”

Dean nodded, his eyes closed.

“You can’t fall asleep in here, you’ll swell up and have a heart attack.”

Dean nodded again. Cas smiled and sank the rest of the way down, letting his feet stick out of the water so they didn’t get swollen.

The sound of the bubbling water sounded artificial in the room around them. They heard a truck go by outside, and Cas figured being in a hot tub in the middle of the desert in the late afternoon was a surreal experience. But he watched as Dean hummed to himself, sinking lower and lower into the water, hiding his torso, then his chest, up to his shoulders. He looked skinny without a shirt on, far removed from pre-Michael days. He had muscle still, but he hadn’t been able to run around on hunts and eat as much food as before. Whatever color he had in his skin had also vanished in the two years he was kept in the bunker, reducing to a pale, almost gaunt mess. The past couple days brought some light back to his skin, but Cas could only hope the color would return when they got to San Diego.

Some days, it felt like hanging out with a ghost.

But Cas could still see the fight in Dean, buried somewhere down there past the exhaustion and the anger tantrums. Dean was still there.

Dean’s cheeks were rosy with the heat, and his hair adorned with small water droplets. Horrified, Cas realized he was staring at Dean’s mouth, swollen from the steam and heat.

He closed his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep on me. You’ll swell up and have a heart attack.” Dean’s voice floated over to him through the steam. Yeah, Cas was going to have a heart attack probably but it wasn’t from the hot tub.

They stayed in there for ten more minutes before agreeing they were being cooked alive, and got out. Cas, acutely aware of his sightline, toweled off in silence as Dean praised the miracles of massage beds and hot tubs.

They stayed on their ends of the bed, and Cas slept, stiff like a corpse, the whole time.

**NINE**

It finally happened in Vegas.

Utah passed by them in a flash, and they made it to Las Vegas to have a late lunch. Dean’s energy seeped into Cas as he drove, and he himself found himself excited about Sin City.

For all his time on Earth, he never bothered with the spit of a city in the Nevada desert. Vegas to him was a strip of human depravity, back when he thought it was a bad thing. He knew an angel who was dispatched there for some sort of job, and the angel had to be dragged back, quite literally. It wasn’t just a Sin City for humans, Cas learned. So, he kept a wide berth.

But Dean, practically bouncing in his seat, talked Cas’s ear off the whole five hours it took to get there. Lunches at such and so place, gambling at Caesars, the whole whatever the hell it was Dean wanted to do for the night they’d spend there. Dean, at first, voiced opposition to only staying one night, but Cas had remind him about the money. Dean shut up then, knowing the other stops he wanted to make along their road trip. They didn’t trust themselves to spend more than one night. But, Dean countered, no matter the cost, they had to have dinner at Oscar’s.

“Beef, booze, and broads,” Dean grinned, clapping his hands together, like he almost caught the steak and the girl between his palms, unwilling to let go.

That soured Cas’s mood slightly, not wanting to see Dean drool over large breasted women with sequins and bowties, but he shrugged it off. Cas reminded himself of the compromise he came to terms with, that as long as Dean was happy, Cas was happy. He couldn’t think more deeply than that without the world going gray around the edges, and the ache returning to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Vegas was gross in the daytime, Cas decided, so he allowed himself to keep his eyes on Dean. If Dean questioned it, Cas would counter with he was only wanting to make sure his travel Casdy was doing okay with the Nevada heat.

But Dean was fine, _glowing_ in fact, with excitement.

They ate at a Thai food place that Dean saw on an Anthony Bourdain show, and that was good. They went to Caesar's and gambled, and that proved a struggle for Cas who could never grasp poker. But, putting six hundred buckaroonies in on a game, and coming away with a surplus of another six hundred was good enough for him. They played the slots, lost another two hundred, and then Dean called out he was actually hungry, and wanted food.

So they went to Oscars.

And that’s where it started to derail for them both.

The babes were dressed in tight black dresses that showed the legs and the cleavage; The booze was expensive and burned the back of their throats in a good way; The beef was amazing and well worth the money. They easily spent nearly the rest of their gambling winnings on dinner but as Cas enjoyed his third glass of whiskey, he found he didn’t care all that much. The place filled with people mid-way through dinner, but not in a claustrophobic way. Dean took a glance or two at some of the babes but he mainly focused on his dinner, which to Cas’s delight, he practically cleaned his whole plate.

Sin City turned out to be some good medicine for him. Cas was grateful.

Dean leaned back in the booth, and patted his stomach like he was greeting an old friend. He looked around them at the people eating. Before entering, they saw the white covered tables, and the candles in the middle of them, standing stoic against the dinnerware. Dean fretted for a minute that with their t shirts and jeans they didn’t fit the bill.

But they were welcomed in anyways. Places like Carl’s didn’t care about a black tie event, only the color of green.

Few families took up booths around them, along with couples spending their time in Vegas debating if they should elope or not. A few of the teenagers eyes followed the Babes, and Cas saw a few women watching with some sort of _what if_ dancing in the light of their eyes. How magical.

Their bill paid, their stomachs full, they went to the hotel for the night.

Given the sharp line between shithole and wonderland in Vegas, they decided to spring for a slightly nicer hotel than in past nights.

The chance was given to them for two double beds on the bottom floor, overlooking the parking lot, or a king sized suite up on the 20th floor.

Dean, this time, was with Cas as they checked in.

Without thinking, he pointed to the room on the chart with the king sized bed.

“That one please.”

“Seriously? You don’t want your own bed for once?” Cas asked, handing the map back.

“I want… a view… of the strip.” Dean grinned and before anything else could be said, he marched back outside to the car and began to unload their bags.

The alcohol made Cas flush, and for some reason, watching Dean flounce away in a very unDeanean like manner, made Cas shiver. The booze made him more calm, but the nagging of the past several nights came back at him, barreling down the tracks onboard an anxiety train. The good mood threatened to wear off.

But, as Dean grabbed the backs and headed back in through the sliding glass doors, Cas watched the giddy grin on his face, and he couldn’t help but put a stop to that bullet train. Now wasn’t the time. Instead, he matched Dean’s grin, feeling a little foolish, and helped him bring everything up to their suite.

It was a perfect dream, one of the best since becoming human.

They were both in a bed in the old farmhouse Cas took a liking to in his dreams. In the daylight hours, he figured it to be his ‘safe space’. It was a tall, wooden farmhouse in the middle of the country, not too far from Sam in Kansas. The pain was peeling, the barn was being fixed by Dean slowly but surely, and they had some animals already poking their heads around the fenced in yard.

In the dream, Dean pressed against his back, warm and solid. He was mumbling something under his breath, but Cas didn’t open his eyes and roll over. His dream self wouldn’t let him. But that was fine, he was okay just laying there, feeling the presence of the man behind him.

Cas pushed his bottom against the hips of Dean and wasn’t surprised to find a hard bulge pressing equally back. In these dreams it was a regular occurrence, but it never felt so real before. Cas shifted his backside against Dean’s cock, and a happy, curious moan slipped from Dean’s throat, still coated with sleep and relaxation.

They moved together in slow, tantalizing movements that had the promise of something more if they wanted. Cas couldn’t see well, his eyes half closed, but he knew the room. The smell seemed foreign but altogether same in his mind as everything became all about Dean in an overwhelming swooping sensation.

Cas felt a hand slide from his hip to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He knew where the final destination would be, and welcomed it. Why not? He knew it was a dream, and it didn’t hurt to indulge in dreams. It kept the wanting in real life to a dull whisper.

Warmth filled him from head to toe, and he shifted his hips back, meeting Dean behind him.

It felt so good, even in a dream. They rocked together with minimal movements. Nothing overt was needed, they were both clearly on edge. A twist of the hand there, and a playful nudge back -- they were soon hot and unable to keep a firm grasp on anything around them. Soft noises filled the air, laced with desperation and promises.

At the same time it became _too much_ , Cas opened his eyes. Confused and disoriented, he struggled to remember where he was. The walls were different than the bunker. But no, they weren’t in the bunker right? Was someone next to him? Maybe. He felt a presence. He also felt --

Sticky, and cold.

With that realization, panic and fear flooded into Cas’s veins, wiping out any warmth he still had. The man in back of him ( _Dean, of course it is_ ) didn’t move either. Cas could still feel him pressing against his backside.

For a moment, they stayed rigid as planks.

At some point, Dean moved away from Cas. Time had melted then, and Cas couldn’t figure out if it took Dean half a second or an hour to do so. The sheets shifted further down his shoulders, exposing hot skin to the chilled air. Dean was sitting up. Cas didn’t want to see his face. He remained frozen in his spot, the heat and warmth quickly vacating his body.

The thick silence spoke volumes.

They didn’t know what to do.

Some more time passed, and Dean didn’t say anything. Cas started to shiver, and he realized he should clean himself off. But, disturbing the bed felt like disturbing a lions den. He didn’t think Dean would scream at him but he was afraid of what might come out of the man’s mouth. Cas made his peace with reality, and that one moment of bliss was shattered already, and he didn’t want Dean to rub the glass in the wound.

But he was cold, sticky, and needed to hide himself away. Cas held his breath, and slid from the bed without a single glance at Dean. His feet hit the carpeted floor with a soft noise, and he felt the drying tackiness between his thighs as he moved, evidence of both their shame.

Somehow he made it to the bathroom. Without thinking, he closed and locked the door.

The fan switched on as Cas fumbled with the switches, and his reflection in the oversized mirror suddenly blanched with white fluorescent lights. He winced at his pale face. He looked like hell. For a moment, Cas wondered if he might throw up, but he resisted that. Dean would still be able to hear him, and Cas didn’t want to make the situation worse.

Thoughts bloomed and popped in his head, not sticking around for long. They were like jumping fish, slipping out of Cas’s grasp before he could sink his teeth into it.

He was so certain it had been a dream. That was his defense. He thought it was a dream about just some random person. What did they call it? Something crass. Dean would probably know. But that’s what happened. It was a vivid dream.

There was some truth to it. Even though it’s been two years, Cas still had adjusting to do with the mind and body of this permanent human state. One of them, was he found himself sexuall aroused at inopportune times. He had gotten better at it, but he can blame being on the road and maybe even pin some blame on the alcohol tonight and the waitresses slinking by in their tight black dresses. With confidence, Cas figured Dean would place the blame on that as well. They were warm bodies next to each other. It happens, they’ll both say. It happens.

And it felt _so good_.

Cas didn’t let that thought remain as he splashed water on his face, and wet a towel to clean himself up. He promised to himself that the next night they would get separate beds, come hell or high water. Anything to make Dean feel more at ease. And if Cas walked out of the bathroom now, and Dean shouted at him to take him back to Kansas, then they’d do that too.

_Then what?_

Cas didn’t want to think about that. He either faced the problem being shoved under the rug, or he faced being ostracized from the family he sacrificed another family for. All because he couldn’t keep his damn self in check. He felt like some handsy sixteen year old, and now put Dean in this uncomfortable position. This was bad enough, so Cas wouldn’t let himself out of the bathroom until he was certain he could look Dean in the eyes and tell him that there was no love, there wasn’t anything there to make him feel uncomfortable, and that the dream and what happened after was just a mistake. A very unfortunate mistake.

He unlocked the door, and shut the lights off, plunging him back into darkness for a moment before stepping out into the small hallway that led to the rest of the room.

Dean had turned on one of the lights, the one next to his side of the bed. At some point, he moved from the center of the bed, to sitting with his back facing the rest of the room, staring out of the window out to the lights of the city before them.

He sat, his shoulders hunched in on themselves, highlighted by the yellow light, and the orange coming through the window. It made him look just as pale as Cas. The bones in his back stuck out from his shirt, and Cas knew under the shirt, the skin stretched too tight across the shoulders. Slow progress.

Before he lost his nerve, Cas opened his mouth.

But Dean beat him to the punch.

“I don’t want this to be awkward.”

Silence followed that admission, and Cas’s response almost was “It’s not” but that would be a straight up lie.

“I don’t want it to be either.” He managed to say back. He didn’t dare get closer to the bed. It felt like a crime scene.

 _How do they get it to not be awkward?_ Cas and Dean shared a hotel room every night, and drove for hours in a small space every day.

“I’m sorry. I d-didn’t m-m-mean it.” Dean croaked, sighing deep and sharp. The words struck Cas like ice. Of course Dean didn’t mean it. The pep talk in the bathroom was supposed to prepare Cas for this but it hurt nonetheless. He shrugged it off.

“Booze and women in tight clothing. It happens. What do you call them?”

“Call what?” Dean still hadn’t turned around.

“When you dream about things like that and… stuff.” Cas trailed off lamely, shrugging even though Dean wasn’t looking.

“Wet dreams. Like a g-goddamn teenager.” A small laugh came after that, lightening the mood for a moment before they lapsed into silence.

The air conditioner kicked on in front of Dean, mounted into the wall under the window. Dean sighed again and finally turned around.

Cas only held eye contact for a second before glancing away.

“So we’re good? I don’t need to bring you home?”

“I want to… keep going.”

Cas nodded, and walked back to the bathroom to grab a towel. He marched back, and laid it back on his side of the bed, to avoid any uncomfortable spots.

“Then we need to go back to sleep, because I don’t want to be tired. If we can push through, we can make it to San Diego by tomorrow afternoon.”

Dean nodded, and slid back into bed. They didn’t talk for the rest of the night, and Cas fell into an uneasy sleep.

**TEN**

Dean hated himself.

He was a bed away but he could still tell Cas was stiff as a board under the covers.

Dean fucked up.

The dream was nice. It started with the women in the black dresses, and they were interesting enough, but his dream-self kept going back to watching Cas watching the women.

A show started somewhere in the restaurant. A smokey, sultry voice drifted over, singing some nostalgic song of mobsters who used to vacation in Vegas, but Dean didn’t pay attention to the singers.

His dream-self didn’t actually seem to exist at all at first, only ever watching the man in front of him light up when the songs changed, or when people got up from their chairs to dance, or when their food finally arrived.

The dream melted into a completely different scene after that. They were running from something, something that was hunting them. They found refuge in a farmhouse. Dean recognized it as a white farmhouse several miles away from the bunker. He remembered first seeing the house a couple weeks after they moved into the Bunker. He loved this dilapidated house.

Now, in dreamland, it was a shelter.

As they closed the door, the bad feeling Dean had in his soul left. The thing hunting them stayed away from the property.

Inside the farmhouse was beautiful. A fire was lit, despite it being summer on the outside, but it wasn’t too hot. The living room had no lights on, but two hurricane lamps, and plenty of cushions and blankets on the ground in front of the fireplace. There was a couch, and two chairs flanking the hearth, but it was clear they were meant to sit in front of the fire.

They didn’t question it. They seemed to be here because of it.

What followed was the most intense, and vivid sexual dream Dean probably ever had, at least since he was hitting puberty with full force.

They sat, they talked, but the dream blurred that together, because Dean didn’t remember anything until all of a sudden they were sliding together, clothes discarded with ease by the fire. The details weren’t as sharp, but Dean could feel every inch of skin, and the heat radiating off the other man. He could even smell him, and the pillows and sheets they laid on. It was overstimulation for his dream self. The orgasm came slow, almost painfully as his body worked to catch up with the sudden onslaught of action and motion it didn’t plan on.

The ringing in his ears woke him. He realized with a painful throb of his half asleep arm that he wasn’t dreaming, at least about the actions part. His dick, half hard, had managed to slip between a small part of thigh of his current bed partner.

 _Would you look at that_ he marvelled before realizing what actually happened. The sweat on him turned cold, like being doused with a bucket of ice water, and he scrambled away, shoving himself back inside his pj’s. Cas continued to lay, tense and awkward, on his side, staring out into the room. The sheets were shoved down as Dean sat up, and he could see that both he and Cas both made a mess of the covers. Was Cas asleep too? He had to be.

Dean couldn’t look at him.

Shame, anxiety, and more shame swelled to monumental proportions as he sat upright, staring at his hands in his lap. His worse fears were realized.

Without a word, Cas slipped from the bed behind him, and locked himself in the bathroom. Panic now spread through Dean’s whole body, making the tips of his fingers and toes ache.

_He’s going to want to go back. He’s going to pack up the shit tonight and take me back and then he’ll leave us because I fucked up and couldn’t keep it in my pants --_

Thoughts swirled in Dean’s head, causing his breathing to quicken in a way he couldn’t catch it. He fucked it all up. This man who helped bring him back from the abyss in ways only he could had his trust betrayed by some asshole who couldn’t control his dick on the best of days.

At some point, Dean moved his position from the center of the bed, to sitting on his edge, feet touching the floor. He did that thing he always liked from _Die Hard_ and made “fists wid his toes”. It made him always feel better as a kid, and he hoped it would calm him now. In his state, the last thing he needed was added stress.

It all boiled down to embarrassment, and fear, Dean decided. Embarrassed he betrayed the trust of a friend, and fear that said friend would be so scared of him now that he’d leave.

Dean’s raging river of thoughts started to stabilized as he thought of a reason for the dream, for the action that followed.

 _Booze. It was the booze, babes, and beef. We drank too much, we ate too much -- we were just feeling good. We haven’t had sex -- well,_ I _haven’t had sex for a couple years._

Could Cas buy that? Anything that might help the situation. Dean will apologize, explain, and that’s that. No inclination of anything that Dean was on the cusp every day of blurting out. None of that. That… _that_ would get Cas running in the opposite direction surely. That was too much.

Dean wanted to tell him, but his chance was ruined now. Even if he told Cas three months, three years, three decades into the future they would always remember this night, and the question would be raised of _Did you enjoy that? Did you do that on purpose? It wasn’t you sexually repressed with women, it was you wanted to get in my pants._

It got all fucked up now.

Eventually, Cas emerged from his cave, and provided the explanation that Dean himself was going to provide. In a better state of mind, Dean might have questioned the perfect alignment of their excuses, but he was only just relieved that they both wanted to move past it.

When Dean saw the towel on the bed, the shame flared up in him once more, but he laid back down, back to Cas, and fell into a quick and uneasy sleep.

**ELEVEN**

**SAN DIEGO: JULY 23RD, 2021**

They stumbled into a hunt on the outskirts of the city.

Just north of Rancho Bernardo, on I-15, a small girl in a tattered dress ran out onto the road. Her presence lasted all of a second, before she faded into the air, but it was enough for Dean and Cas to notice her with their sharp vision for anything supernatural.

They pulled off the highway, and watched outside the window. Dean muttered something about a possible death omen, which, if true, she’d appear again. They were the only words he’d spoken in the whole trip from Las Vegas to California. Cas didn’t speak at all. The tension between them had been so thick, that Cas could feel it crushing them with every passing hour. The death omen gave them something to look out for.

Part of Cas wanted to scream when he saw it. Even now, trying to get away from hunting and the stress of the everyday they stumble across a hunt. The weariness set back into him. All he wanted to do was sink his toes in the warm sand and listen to the waves. They were so close, and soon he could get out of the suffocating tomb that was this car with Dean and his stony silence that seemingly came out of nowhere that morning.

But Dean kept his eyes out the windshield, keen on the air like a coyote stalking its prey.

Sudden and quick, the little girl appeared to run through the brush, laughing. Her dress was torn and her face was beaten. She ran and ran, coming from the street just beyond the brush. She ran out onto the highway, stopped, turned, and shielded her face from whatever oncoming horror that had been barreling towards her.

“People get hit all the time on the highway, Dean.”

Dean ignored him, and pulled out his phone. Cas sighed, and thumped his head against the steering wheel.

“This wasn’t a hunting trip, in case you forgot. We’re supposed to be checking in by now and on a beach.”

Dean continued to ignore him as he tapped out a message to Sam. Cas knew what he saw, because he saw the same thing. The girl had been a mess long before she was struck by the vehicle. Her dress looked like it had been on her for years, and she outgrew it. Her face was bloody and bruised, far more than the normal scrapes of a five year old. She was laughing, but it seemed more of a manic realization she was free rather than a playful tumble in the woods.

Dean wouldn’t be able to rest properly until he could be sure there was nothing else going on.

But, Cas realized with a sinking feeling, Dean seemed to relish in it. His face was already as bright as it was the day they set off on their little adventure. His skin had a gray, ashy tone to it this morning over breakfast. The person that morning versus the person now seemed like two different people entirely. Cas sighed, and waited.

Sam called about ten minutes later. Those minutes between filled with abject silence once again. Cas wanted to say something, but couldn’t. He also had to keep his mind away from the previous night. The hot feeling of what transpired would sneak up on his daydreams, and cause a small jolt of arousal to course through his veins. He didn’t want a repeat performance. They were on shaky ground. Cas attributed Dean’s silence this morning as him realizing what actually happened. The whole day had gone by with Cas assuming Dean would call in the towel, and demand to be taken back.

The trip ceased being fun.

Sam called, gave them the low down of a girl who thirty years ago was seen running in and out of traffic on the highway before she was struck by a semi-truck. She was identified as a missing child, and they never figured out where she came from, only that she was in the company of someone else given the lacerations on her body and face before she was struck and killed. An unsolved mystery.

Cas sighed, knowing full well Dean and Sam could hear him. Dean ignored him, and concentrated on interrogating Sam for every bit of information they could get.

The realization that Dean was stalling on the stalling raised a flag in Cas’s mind. He filed it away for later.

Sam rattled on the coordinates of the search area, and they were off.

They took exit twenty four, and drove back up north on S. Bernardo Drive, Dean keeping his eyes peeled once again out the window. The light seemed to fade just slightly from his expression, enough to give away any nerves he might have. His ability to hide expressions seemed to have gone away when Michael did. They gave him the benefit of the doubt as he recovered but today, with Dean’s emotions seemingly all over the map, Cas’s flagged thought of delaying and procrastination and Dean’s pale face the night before concerned him. They were going into a hunt without the proper frame of mind.

Those didn’t go well.

Finally, a couple miles up the road, they came across a dirt path with a broken down, vandalized gate. Cas got out, pushed it open, and drove down. No one stopped them.

As the road took them further into the brush and desert, Cas wondered if the vibrations on his seat were from the rocks in the road, or Dean’s shaking. Cas glanced at him, and stepped on the brake.

“Are you going to throw up?”

Dean shook his head, and gestured for them to keep going. The fear in Dean overtook whatever tension they had that morning. Cas had half a mind to turn around and march Dean into the hotel and force him into a bathing suit and beach chair. But God help him, he gripped the wheel, white knuckling his way down the path.

Around one of the bends, a small, ramshackle house stood against the landscape. They almost missed it, the burnt wood blending in with the burnt shrubs around it. The windows were blown out, and the door stood ajar. With a neighborhood so close by, Cas figured it would be prime vandalism property. But, the shack stood, unscatched by anything other than the elements.

“Is that it?” He asked for no reason other than to break the silence.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Sam relayed the proper coordinates, and how police came across the shack but couldn’t find any incriminating evidence. They moved on, trying to find where the little girl came from. There were several missing little children in the area in that time. And there were some missing children now, presumed to be with their drug using parents, but still not found.

Cas sighed again, and glanced at Dean, who looked frozen at the shack.

“Why are we here?”

“There are children in there.”

“You don’t know that.”

Dean shook his head, “It adds up. Police suck. They missed it.”

Cas almost saw the anger boil over in his brain without any hestiation. He exploded.

“Then why don’t we call them back!” He shouted. Dean didn’t wince, “Why are we here? Why aren’t we at the beach right now which was the whole reason why we went on this trip! Why haven’t you spoken to me since this morning, and why do you look like you’d rather be in the basement of whatever that building is instead of at the place you said you wanted to go for months!”

Everything spilled out at once, and Cas kept going, fueled by Dean who still refused to look at him, “We didn’t plan all this out for us to get hurt on a hunt. You’re fifty pounds less than you used to be, you can’t even sit in a car for more than five hours without needing to take a nap. You can barely even _speak_ for christ sake! What is wrong with you!”

The last few words hung in the empty space between Dean and Cas. Dean finally looked up at him, his expression as dead as it was when he first came out of his Michael coma.

“Grab the guns. I’ll meet you inside.” And without another word, Dean slipped from the car. He stumbled when his straightened himself, but recovered. He didn’t look back.

Cas felt the finality of his words still hanging around him, setting on his shoulders like the weight of the world. If he didn’t ruin it last night, then he _definitely_ ruined it now. He wondered why he was so scared of this. In reality, what they were probably dealing with wasn’t anything more crazy than what they already had dealt with.

 _You’re afraid the old Dean is back_.

Cas shook his head. If that was the case, he should be happy. The old Dean was large and in charge and knew what was going on. He could speak in complete sentences, and put away a pound and a half of bacon without blinking. He --

_He didn’t need you._

No. No, no, and no. Cas wasn’t going to believe that small, stupid voice in the back of his head. He was needed plenty by Dean and Sam. He understood that over time, and he was in a good place --

_They needed you when you were an angel. What good are you now? Why does Dean still need you around other than to drive a car and dump wet dreams onto you?_

His blood turned cold at the thought. Flash memories of years before where Dean mentioned Cas’s lack of powers with a look of disgust in his eyes. Cas’s own feelings of being absolutely useless to everyone. What good was he? _What good was he?_

He watched Dean hobble over to the front door of the shack, peeking in. Satisfied with what he saw, he waved a hand at Cas. The third sigh came, deep and heavy. He had to push down whatever thoughts were clawing at him from the abyss. Now wasn’t the time.

What good was he? The good he could do now was keep Dean alive -- again.

The shack itself was nothing more than a 2 bedroom cottage. The floorboards creaked with their combined weight, and the breeze slipped through the cracks of the walls. Tattered, gauzy curtains hung down, billowing in the soft wind. They both had salt guns, along with some other weapons. There wasn’t much left in the trunk of the car to choose from, but paranoia took Dean over and he packed the trunk with a few things. _Just in case_ was his reasoning.

Cas took the lead, and Dean let him.

They passed through the entrance and the living rooms. They checked one bedroom, full of trash, and they checked the other one, full of more trash. The kitchen had a nest of some kind under the wooden table, and they didn’t dare open a cabinet or the fridge that remained stood against the wall.

Dean kicked the wood under their feet. It wasn’t hollow there, the bedrooms, or the sitting area.

They made their way to the bathroom.

Cas pushed Dean back a bit as they approached, “There’s only room for one of us at a time.”

Dean rolled his eyes and stood back. He could protest all he wanted but Cas wasn’t going to let anything happen to him.

Up until Cas fell, he thought the hunt was going okay. It was okay in the sense nothing was happening, and Dean seemed to be getting minutely calmer as they investigated. Cas had even been able to forget about last night’s horror and the coldness of Dean the next morning as he poked at holes in the walls and explored the house.

But the floor was weaker in the bathroom due to water rot.

Cas stepped completely into the tight space, knocking on the walls and the tub. He tapped twice with the gun to the floor, and looked up at Dean with a small smile. Dean, for the first time that day, smiled back, although small and hesitant.

Cas saw the horror in Dean’s eyes before he registered the cracking in the floor beneath his feet. One moment, Dean’s terrified face covered his vision as the man raced forward, and the next, Cas was plummeted into a dark, earthen cave beneath the house. He struck something (rock) on the way down, and a white-hot bolt of pain licked up from his ankle to his knee. He crumpled to the ground, face smacking the dirt, another rock striking him right above the eye.

“CAS!” Dean yelled after him, but he didn’t answer back. He couldn’t, still biting back the pain in his leg and head. He didn’t know how far he fell, but it was enough to do damage.

“Cas are you okay? Can you talk?” Dean’s voice seemed muffled, distant, but when Cas managed to roll over onto his back (another rock), and looked up, Dean was no more than twelve feet above him. The rock Cas hit with his leg was right below the hole. He tried rotating his foot with a hiss of pain, but it was no good. Something broke on the way down.

“I’m okay,” he called back up, his voice cracking. He felt blood dripping down his face, and he wiped at it with a huff of annoyance. Just fucking great.

Dust fell on top of him as Dean rushed out of the bathroom above, and into the rest of the house. Cas worked on tidying himself up what he could while he heard Dean back out in the car.

The hole he fell into seemed to span the area of the shack, extending maybe a small bit further. In his immediate vicinity, there were no stairs, so this wasn’t a basement. Whoever dug it out left the supports to hold up the house. One wooden pillar stood behind Cas, and he pawed his way to it, constantly wiping dust and blood out of his right eye. His vision hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet, but he could tell he wasn’t alone. Angel powers weren’t needed for that.

Taking a break against the pillar, Cas tilted his head back to make the blood run another way. He felt like screaming long and loud. They somehow always fucked up the good things, and this was the biggest _fuck you_ yet. They were supposed to be on a beach, soaking up the sun and not giving two shits about anything.

A frustrated yell escaped him, thick with rage. He threw a rock that bounced across the dirt landscape and smacked the wall at the end of the room.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Dean asked, worried. He rushed back into the bathroom, dropping something to the floor.

Cas bit his tongue. He’d let it out later but for right now they had to get out of this shitty place. This shitty place that didn’t have _anything_ in it. The wild goose chase that wound up getting Cas injured on the one leg he needed to use to _drive_ \--

“I’m fine. Get me out of here.”

A rope dropped down through the hole, and Cas had to half crawl to get it with his foot and leg in the condition it was in. He dragged it limp and dead behind him, grinding his teeth at the pain.

His finger tips grazed the rope as a hand, small, enclosed on his ankle. Screaming, he turned and ripped his foot out of the tiny grasp. What he saw in the small light from the hole wasn’t a monster, but a little boy, no older than six. His mouth was sewn shut.

“Dean! Dean get down here!” Cas yelled without thinking. The frightened child cowered back into the darkness but Cas grabbed his arm before he could slip away.

Without hesitation, Dean jumped down into the hole himself, carefully dodging the rock at the bottom. He stumbled, his legs not at good as they used to be, but he recovered, and knelt down into the dirt staring at the child in front of them.

The kid didn’t look as dirty as the death omen, and the sutures looked new. He was skinny, probably hadn’t eaten in a few days, but the mouth had a big enough opening for liquid to go down. They immediately recognized him as Josiah Winters, a missing child from a week ago. What little dirt he had on his cheeks were lined with tear tracks.

“We need to get him out of here, now.” Dean demanded, fear lacing his tone as he took Josiah’s other hand, and guided him into the light. But Josiah just shook his head and tried pulling on them. Dean turned back to him, panic visible on his face.

“We’re not the bad guys, I promise you. We’re trying to help.”

But Josiah continued to struggled against them. Cas and Dean both let go, a mutual understanding of not wanting to hurt the child more than he already was.

 

Josiah scrambled back into the darkness, and Dean sighed, going all the way to the ground, crawling after him. He turned back to Cas.

“Are you okay enough to follow? I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I’m coming with you.” Cas knew better than to split up in places like this when they were both handicapped. They’ve done it before, and it didn’t end well. This vacation already took an annoying and frightening turn for no good reason, Cas didn’t want one of them to get killed in the meantime.

He winced and bit back the groans of pain as he dragged his leg behind him while they crawled through the dirt and dark. Their eyes slowly started to adjust to the dark. On his left, Cas saw a couple heaps of dark things with some white sticking out. Bones.

Further into the darkness, they followed Josiah. The place seemed bigger than initially thought, but when Cas looked over his shoulder, he still saw the hole.

Josiah led them to the far wall at the other end of the pit. Nothing seemed to be around them, until Cas saw Josiah lift his hands and knees up higher than usual when crawling.

“Dean, stop.”

They almost ran right into a large circle of salt, breaking the line. Josiah climbed over it with grace, his eyes adjusted to the dark for at least a week down here. They could easily stand up and walk over the line, but Cas didn’t want to stand up into the darkness, where anything could be. He felt safe on the ground.

They shuffled themselves over the line, and crammed into the small circle with the child.

And they waited.

Josiah shook against Cas, and he put an arm around the child to try and calm him, but he was scared too. Scared, terrified, angry, pissed off, _annoyed_ \--

Cas glanced at Dean, who stared out into the darkness. His pale face shone almost like a beacon, and it flared Cas’s anger even more. They shouldn’t have been here, but he was angry at the fact that he almost pulled Dean away from this when there was, in fact, a child in need of rescue.

He should have been on a beach right now.

“How does this always happen?” Cas wondered out loud, trying to distract from the throbbing in his leg. He didn’t think it was broken fully anymore, but probably fractured. The boy and Dean ignored him. Dean trained the gun on the open space around them. Their eyes were almost fully adjusted but in the way they only saw shadows out of the corner of their eye. If they looked directly at anything, it faded back into the darkness. Cas could tell there were several bodies, and by the time they got to the circle, the smell overpowered him for a moment before he pushed through.

Cas opened his mouth to say something again, just to break the silence, when a loud thud echoed above them, sending dirt and dust swirling back down to them from up top.

The little boy started shivering so hard, his teeth chattered.

“Do ghosts do that?” Cas asked Dean, barely a whisper, already knowing the answer. Dean shook his head back and forth, slow, never taking his eyes off the space right in front of him.

Footsteps thumped a dull rhythm from the front door, to the bedroom, over to the other bedroom, and finally the bathroom. The bootheels scraped to a stop just before the hole, and from the far end of the pit they could see some sort of a shadow.

Definitely not a ghost.

And they didn’t have bullets, only rock salt.

The thing up stairs moved fast. Too fast. The kid shrunk back against the dirt wall, watching the floor above them.

The person or thing or whatever up there grabbed something, a gun by the sound of the rattling, and marched outside. They heard a distant crunch as the grooves of the boots hit the dirt. Far on the other side, somewhere outside where they missed it, a door opened up. They followed the sound of the footsteps as they thumped down wooden stairs. The kid covered his eyes. Dean held steady.

The door opened with a bang somewhere in the dark in front of them, causing the ground to shake. Cas could feel the child behind him shaking in fear. Dean didn’t look much better. His normally pale face seemed to glow in the dark. Cas wondered if he was still breathing.

He, himself, felt his blood run cold. The thought of _why are we here this wasn’t part of the plan at all_ rang through his mind. He didn’t think they’d die here, they always manage to get out of the worst of scrapes. However, the small voice in the back of Cas’s brain echoed back to him _you’re human, Dean’s weak, and you have a kid to look after_.

And whatever was striding across the room at a steam-train pace was clearly not a ghost.

Dean fired.

The rock salt hit the man, somewhere, judging by the grunt of pain. The man didn’t stop though, and the boots clopped closer to them.

Dean fired again.

The man grunted one more time but kept barreling towards them.

In the instant it took for the man to close the gap between them and himself, and watching the man take aim for Dean, Cas’s brain snapped back into place.

He saw a small glint of gunmetal on the man’s hip. Almost in slow motion, Cas saw the man’s giant hands reach for the holder on his hip, ready to draw, and fire.

The self-preservation that had been growing in Cas since his human switchover went out the door. All the times almost losing Dean, having it come to a head when Michael almost threw Dean’s soul into the void, never to come back.

Cas, charged with adrenaline, surged up and collided with Dean as the man tried to as well. They fell to the ground with an _oomph_ and the salt rifle tumbled into the dirt away from them. Not like it mattered much, it was useless.

The Man tripped over their bodies, unable to stop his mass in time. He yelled as he waved his arms, trying to find his footing. Instead, he face planted into the wall.

The hand that had been going for his gun on the left side hit the wall, dropping what little of the gun he had a hold of. Cas watched as the metal struck the dirt floor, striking some rocks embedded in the ground. The Man fell he other way, howling, holding his nose. Even in the dark, you could see the blood gushing from his fingers.

 _If it bleeds, it can be killed_.

Cas abandoned Dean on the ground, ignoring whatever it was he was shouting, and dove for the gun. He felt a hand on the back of his shirt -- but he didn’t dare stop. The Man saw him move, and despite his bloodied face, lurched forward on the ground.

Hands flew onto the gun, but Cas didn’t know whose. A gunshot went off, but he didn’t know where. He smelled something, fear or pain, maybe blood. He felt a sharp pain on his shoulder but he ignored it. The confusion wore off and he saw the gun in the man’s hand, pointed straight at him. Dean was yelling, and Cas didn’t know where the kid was.

The smell of blood was now radiating off his right shoulder. Cas didn’t dare look down at it, fearing if he took his eyes off the gun, another bullet would punish him for it.

He pushed aside the pain again, and grabbed the gun from the Man, who still had a hand up to his face. It seemed almost too easy, but maybe luck would be on his side for once.

Scrambling back, Cas trained the gun on the man in front of him. His right arm shook, but he stablaized his grip as much as he could with his left hand; pulled the trigger; fire.

The deafening sound caused Cas’s ears to ring, and he closed his eyes without realizing it until after the trigger was pulled.

Opening his eyes into the dark, he saw the Man no longer towered over him. Instead, a splatter of blood marked the wall where the Man had stood moments before.

Now, he laid crumpled to the ground, eyes open, mouth frozen in shock as the bullet entered his head right above his right eyebrow. Blood trickled down his face and onto the dirt below.

He was dead.

Dean scrambled to his feet and grabbed the gun from Cas, flicking on the safety and throwing it back onto the ground. He started to claw at his shirt, and Cas just stood there letting him, looking around for the kid.

With his right arm exposed, the pain blossomed from the wound, spreading like fire throughout his chest and down to his finger tips.

The bullet didn’t go through his arm, but just grazed him, taking out a chunk of skin. Wasn’t too bad, but they’d need to go to a hospital along with calling the police.

Dean stayed silent, his face like stone but Cas could tell there was some water accumulating in his eyes. Without a question, Dean took park of his shirt, slicing a chunk off the bottom to wrap around the bullet wound.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, watching Dean, pale and shaking, wrap the fabric tightly around the wound. It stung, but Cas bit the inside of his cheek and fought through it.

Dean didn’t say anything, only nodding, concentrating on his knot.

Josiah, who had been hiding behind a bookshelf in the corner closest to them, finally edged out against the wall, eyes wide as saucers. Dean turned around, finished with Cas, and knelt down, opening his arms.

The kid ran into them, and Dean lifted him up easy. Cas almost went to stabilize him when the weight balance almost caused him to overcorrect, but Dean found his footing just fine. Together, all three of them made it across the basement, and up into the world above.

**TWELVE**

**ONE WEEK LATER**

The ocean’s waves did little to calm Dean down.

After another strained morning, their sixth one since the shack, Cas opted to stay in the room. Dean didn’t bother him. They didn’t want to talk.

Instead of hanging around in the claustrophobic room, Dean ventured down to the beach, like he did most nights.

The beach motel was a small spit of 1950’s nostalgia with a square room that included a kitchen, doors to a bedroom, and a sitting area. Nothing special, but it offered a fantastic view of the Pacific.

The first couple nights, both of them didn’t have the strength to take the short walk down to the beach. Cas wound up only spraining his ankle, but the bullet wound took a lot out of him. Dean forgot sometimes that the new found humanity still had an adjustment period, even if it had been a couple years. He himself had to recover. The stress of seeing Cas shot, and tackle an eight foot man all on his own almost induced another coma. He managed to make it to the hospital with Josiah and Cas, and he managed to speak to the doctors. He even managed to keep his eyes awake as they sewed Cas’s wound back up and drove them the final two hours to their destination on the beach.

But then he slept for a whole day, only waking to eat something, then going back to sleep. They both slept, this time in separate beds but Dean didn’t think it mattered all that much -- they were too tired for any dreams, let alone any movements.

On the second day, he managed to get on shaky feet. The pain pills that Cas left the hospital with knocked him out usually until noon.

The morning was hazy, a marine layer rolling in from the ocean. The clock read seven a.m. and hardly anyone was out on the beach.

They finally made it, but Dean felt no joy inside.

His idiocy almost got them killed. Again.

Dean tried to justify it to himself, and in the end they were right to at least go and investigate. There was a child there, there was a dangerous situation there -- but

he could have been better.

They didn’t need to go inside the shack. He always had a gun on him, why didn’t he this time? Because they weren’t supposed to go on hunts, thats why. Low stress, easy going, sun, beer, fishing, more sun --

They could have called the police. He could have insisted they call the police instead of dragging his weak ass and Cas into that pit.

But he didn’t. And he almost got Cas killed.

The whole week his mind spun in circles trying to figure out how the decision making happened but Dean couldn’t figure it out. He knew that if he could figure it out, maybe Cas wouldn’t be so stony. But Dean knew he deserved the reaction.

The week had been heartbreaking, and Dean didn’t know what to do except the one thing he _could_ do.

Call Sam.

They hadn’t spoken since they got to San Diego, and the call had been short, Dean putting on the false joy of someone who had an uneventful ride to their destination. Sam seemed happy Dean seemed happy and that was that.

But if he had to come clean, he needed to do it with someone who would speak to him.

Dean settled back into the beach chair and dialed the number as slow as he could. But before he could finish, another call interrupted.

“What’s wrong? You… okay?”

There was a shuffle sound on the other end and a banging of something against the ground.

“I was trying to replace the gauze,” Cas’s voice came through the phone staticy from the beach cell service, “I bumped my shoulder against the sink when I dropped something. It won’t stop bleeding and I can’t get it to stop.”

“Okay, just hold a towel against it, I’ll head back now.”

The walk back to the room felt torturous, not just because of the strain on his legs and energy, but having to be near that man again, without anything to say. He had to say something. But what? Something needed to remedy the situation so the rest of the trip could go on smoothly. But between Vegas, the shack, and now -- Dean didn’t know if they could go on.

Maybe it was time to call it off. Dean had a habit of not letting things work out how they were supposed to.

**THIRTEEN**

“I’m going to head back. Sam can come and finish the trip with you.”

The declaration came after minutes of tense, absolutely awful silence as Dean sat on the edge of the bathtub, wrapping Cas’s freshly opened wound. He figured if it kept bleeding they’d have to go back to the hospital to get some more stitches back in.

More silence followed the statement. Dean concentrated hard on not letting his movements falter, to betray the level of calm he had built up on the walk back to the room.

He cleared his throat.

“What made you c-come to that… decision?”

“It’s been pretty rough around here. And I want you to enjoy your time here. You deserve it.”

And then, Dean realized the worst thing about the past week wasn’t the awkwardness, but was Cas thinking that Dean didn’t want him there anymore.

The trip had struggled to get its legs working, and the hunt really screwed things up but Dean wracked his brains as fast as he could trying to think of any indication he gave that would make Cas think he had to leave.

The words left his mouth before he could think.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Dean --”

“I don’t… it’s not --” Now the words tangled on his tongue, just when he needed them the most, “Just, don’t. Please.”

The frustration that the words formed in his mind but he couldn’t get them out started to build. He could feel an anger storm brewing, not at Cas but at himself. But, he pushed it down as much as he could. If he had one now, it would only make Cas more sure of leaving.

As Dean struggled to get the words out of his mouth, Cas stood up from the seat of the toilet he sat on, throwing paper towels into the wastebasket on the other side. A long sigh, one that sounded like weariness and annoyance combined, filled the room.

“I know you didn’t want Sam or anyone else to come with you but I think it’ll be better. Ever since Vegas it’s been awkward, and then that thing at the shack -- You were right, there was something that needed to investigated but you were so adamant about danger again. I don’t know how to stop you when you get like that.”

Dean looked down at his hands, they were shaking. Cas continued.

“I wasn’t that great of a hunter when I was an angel, and I don’t think I’m much better as a human. If you’re going to want to go on hunts, at least I know you’re in better hands with Sam. I can’t stop you, maybe he can’t either but you’re used to doing those with him. I’d be better back at the bunker.”

Cas turned and left the small bathroom, leaving Dean on the bathtub.

“I r-remembered.”

Cas stopped moving just outside in the room. His back still facing Dean, and rigid straight. Dean didn’t mean for those words to come out but he didn’t have much of a choice, and at this point, if Cas was planning on leaving him anyways, what use was it to keep lying?

“I didn’t know… if it was real. But I h-heard it. I didn’t kn-know if that’s… how you really f-felt. I s-still don’t. But it’s how I feel --”

Not exactly all what he wanted to say, but an abbreviated version worked just as well as the long one. Dean kept his eyes on his hands.

“--Thinking about it… I r-realized it didn’t ma-matter if it was t-true or if… you just said it. But I be-believed… it. That’s what brought me back… I felt it. I wouldn’t… have come back if I didn’t… believe you --”

Dean inhaled sharply. The small monologue already depleting most of his energy. But, he reminded himself the importance of the situation.

“And I r-realized I believed you… because I love you too.”

And there it was, laid out between them in the space between a bathroom and a motel bedroom. Dean exposed himself in ways he hated to do, but it was now or never. It wasn’t like Cas was leaving his life forever, just going back to the bunker. But the fear of what would happen in the months between Dean and Sam going on the rest of the journey, and Cas thousands of miles away, scared him. What would break further between them?

He still had no confirmation that Cas only said what he said just to bring Dean back, but Dean felt that if coming back from the cosmic black hole he was in was to signal a new beginning, then it was time to stop making old mistakes like running into abandoned shacks and hiding his feelings.

The silence billowed once again between them for what felt like years. Dean couldn’t bring himself to look back up and at Cas, fearing the look that he’d be greeted with.

A squeak, and an _oomph_ finally brought Dean’s head up. Cas had sat at the edge of a bed and then collapsed back onto the bedspread, his hands over his eyes, elbows in the air. He didn’t run, and he wasn’t shooting daggers at Dean, which was a good sign.

Dean got up from the edge of the tub and steadied himself against the sink as the blood rushed around his body. He took a look of his pale, clammy face in the mirror before turning and heading back into the room.

The bed dipped as he sat on the left side, bouncing slightly with the springs.

“I didn’t mean as a brother when I said it. Did you remember that?” Cas mumbled.

“I didn’t either,” Dean responded.

They sat together in silence for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, but this time the awkwardness abated somewhat. It was, by far, the least dramatic way Dean figured this confession would happen. His heart swelled at Cas’s confirmation at what he said in Dean’s mind. He spent so long fearing it was a hallucination, or that Cas only said it just to get him out of the void -- but no. It was real. It was all real.

“What do we do now?” Dean asked, turning back to Cas still laying down on the bed. Cas lowered his hands and arms and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. He eventually turned his head and stared at Dean, an open and honest expression on his face. To Dean, he looked almost ten years younger than he did all week.

“No idea. This is all new to me.”

“Same here.”

They thought together. It became clear to Dean that saying I Love You was a lot easier than showing it.

“I’ve been w-wanting to say… that for years,” Dean confessed, going back to staring at his hands, “You know when… you were g-going to c-close the gates… to heaven with Meta-dick?”

Cas shifted uncomfortably, but Dean ignored it.

“If it w-went through… I w-wouldn’t have s-seen you again. I s-should have s-s-said it there, but I didn’t,” Dean sighed, “So many… wasted o-opportunities.”

Dean felt the bed shift and turned around. Cas brought himself up to a sitting position before turning back to Dean.

“Better late than never.”

Dean smiled.

“Will you stay? I r-really don’t want to see Sam in a speedo.”

“What makes you think I’m going to wear one?”

Dean waggled his eyebrows the best his muscles would allow and Cas laughed, propelling himself off the bed and to his suitcase.

“Let’s just go get lunch. We have time to figure everything out.”

So they got ready to eat at the diner by the beach, and the morning fog evaporated, giving them a clear picture of the southern California coastline. The clouds seemed to lift in Dean’s mind too. He felt hungry again, full of energy. The way Cas was moving around, Dean could tell the past fifteen minutes did a lot for him as well.

Cas pulled on a crisp white button-down with short sleeves, the bandages on his arm poking out under the fabric. That, paired with a pair of tan summer pants, and he looked like a man reborn. In some ways he was, Dean figured. They were both banged up, but they were ready to take on what they could of the world.

As Dean held open the door, a smile bloomed on Cas’s face, teeth and eye wrinkles and everything. He brushed past, with a tantalizing, teasing, barely-there touch, and moved into the sunlight of the morning.

Dean figured that smile alone was worth every mile of the journey.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's my first DCBB and I'm so excited for next year to do another one! 
> 
> Art: dreymart (Tumblr)  
> Beta: Eriquin (Tumbr)


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